


Shuffle

by old_blue



Category: Captain America (Movies), Doctor Strange (2016), Doctor Strange (Comics), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Asexual Character, Blood Drinking, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderbending, Ghost Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Kinky, LITERALLY, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Oviposition, Pansexual Character, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Magic, Sex Pollen, Shapeshifting, Tentacle Sex, Vampire Sex, Weird Biology, Xenophilia, bottom Stephen Strange
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:45:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 71,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11842341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/old_blue/pseuds/old_blue
Summary: *Rape/non-con warning is for Chapter 10 only*Every permutation in the vast multiverse... A series of random ship fics, most are smutty, each can stand alone. Pairings listed in chapter titles, warnings in notes.Now open for pairing or idea requests (see notes)





	1. Blues Run the Game (Stephen/Jessica)

**Author's Note:**

> These things exist in the same universe, so they could all possibly bang each other. Maybe not all at once, though... Do not question it. Don't.
> 
> I added a link to the title song in each chapter, even if some are obvious.
> 
> As always, any and all comments and crits much appreciated! If you would like to request a particular pairing or scenario, drop me a comment. I _might_ write it if it's **1.** awesome (I have low standards), **2.** I know the characters, and **3.** I feel I could make a good story out of it. Almost any kink is fine. I won't write torture or underage and I don't know anything about BDSM. Please keep in mind that I am the slowest writer in the universe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica Jones/Stephen Strange
> 
> Stephen and Jessica are on a stakeout. It doesn't go as planned...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: drunk sex
> 
> [Blues Run the Game](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Qep6-X4nf4I) by Jackson C. Frank  
> I chose the Simon and Garfunkel cover because it fits with the story.

_Wednesday morning, 3 am._

Stephen thought to himself: _Simon and Garfunkel, October 19, 1964._ Song and album. Not their best effort, in his opinion. Sounds of Silence was a more confident album, a definite improvement. Still too many covers, though—Simon hadn't quite come into his own as a songwriter...

 _Wait?_ Why was he suddenly thinking about Simon and Garfunkel? Seemed inappropriate... Oh yeah, because he'd looked at his watch. _Wednesday morning, 3 am._ A song and an album title. Also, the current time in Hell's Kitchen.

Three in the morning, on a Wednesday, in an abandoned crackhouse. Abandoned by whoever had once lived here or owned the place, then abandoned by the crackheads. This building was, literally, forsaken. Not the worst place to wait for whatever had been feeding on the former residents.

And so that's where they were currently waiting. Just waiting for something to happen. God, he was bored.

Stephen was sure that whatever it was would be back tonight to hunt for the next victim. Every sign, every omen he'd read pointed to that: new moon, pitch black night, ill wind blowing in from the East, the 13th day of the month. _Unlucky._ Plus, he'd calculated the time between attacks and this was the night the beast was scheduled to come back to sate itself once again. Probably. He's was pretty sure.

He'd been wrong before, though...

"What the fuck is this thing waiting for?" Jessica stuffed another potato chip in her mouth and wiped her greasy hand down the front of her sweatshirt. "Are we not delicious enough or something?"

Stephen just scowled at the woman sitting next to him. He'd been forbidden from speaking about an hour ago because, apparently, he was annoying.

Anyway, he thought they were about as delicious as they could get without actually smoking crack. Old clothes, unwashed skin, greasy hair. He looked gross, and he probably smelled worse. Not the best disguise, but they'd been hoping the beast wouldn't be too discerning.

He reached over and snuck a chip. Jessica lifted the corner of her lip in a sneer and moved the bag out of his reach.

He'd met her just a few days before, totally by accident, when they'd both stumbled onto the same mystery—something eating the city's homeless population. She'd tried to bash his head against a brick wall and he'd been forced to trap her in a magic bubble to keep her from killing him, but eventually they'd settled on an uneasy truce. And then an alliance to track down the beast and stop the killings. Though neither quite trusted the other yet.

Stephen would have preferred to handle the whole thing himself—he'd gotten used to working alone, and interdimensional beasts were really his area of expertise. But Jessica had insisted on being involved. Stephen knew she still suspected he might be behind all of the disappearances, which was why she'd tried to kill him in the first place.

Jessica was strong. No doubt about that—he still had the bruises to prove it—but this was a job that required a lighter touch. And considerable patience. Jessica had neither of those. Weren't private detectives supposed to be good at stake-outs?

Plus, she had an irritating personality, as he was quickly figuring out—they were opposites in so many ways. The last few hours had dragged by so slowly he was tempted to make sure they weren't stuck in a time loop.

Obviously, the feeling was mutual.

Jessica sighed and slammed her head into the wall. Stephen winced as the whole building shuddered. "God, this is boring. Are you ever gonna say anything? Or do we have to sit here in silence until the sun comes up?"

"You told me to shut up," he said, still feeling a little sore about it.

"Well..." She waved her hand, frustrated. "Now you can talk again. _Happy?_ "

"No," he admitted.

Jessica snorted. "That makes two of us."

Stephen wrapped his arms around his legs, trying his best to tuck them under his coat. It was really fucking cold in here, and now his ass was numb. At least the cloak was warm around his neck, generating its own heat like a living thing. He wondered how much longer they should hold out before calling this whole endeavor a failure. He wasn't quite ready to give up yet. Or admit he'd been wrong…

Jessica groaned loudly and slumped down against the wall. "This thing isn't coming..."

 _Did she have to be so dramatic?_ There was rustling beside him. He glanced over. Jessica had pulled a bottle of bourbon out of her coat and was twisting the cap off.

Stephen couldn't believe what he was seeing. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Turning the most boring waste of a night ever into a party." She gave him an lopsided grin before throwing her head back and swigging from the bottle.

"We're on a stakeout. It's supposed to be boring." This was definitely not how it was supposed to go. God, why had he let her tag along?

"Look, Doc. Maybe the monster got tired of having crackheads for dinner every night. Or maybe it's picked a new hunting ground. Either way, I have to do something before we both die of boredom. Or I kill you for making me sit in this freezing dump all night for nothing."

He scrubbed his hands through his hair, wincing when his fingers got caught on a greasy knot. Night was looking like a bust, anyway, a total waste. Couldn't hurt at this point, might even help... Maybe they'd be more tempting if they smelled like cheap booze.

"Fine," he sighed, held out his hand, "Let me have it."

Jessica just shrugged and passed the bottle over. Plastic bottle, blue and white label—top-tier stuff. Stephen tipped it back and swallowed before he could change his mind. Almost coughed it back out.

"Oh, that's foul." He wiped his hand across the back of his mouth and shuddered, while Jessica laughed at him. That tasted like battery acid going down.

He passed the bottle over. Jessica slammed back another ridiculous mouthful. How she could choke that down without projectile vomiting was a mystery. Stephen shook his head in amazement. Obviously, she had some sort of history with the bottle. He decided bringing that up was probably a bad idea.

Better to just drink his curiosity away. "My turn." He reached for the bottle again. This time the booze went down with only the slightest burn and settled easily in his stomach, pleasantly warm.

They sat in a relatively companionable silence for a while, just passing the bottle back and forth.

By the seventh or eighth gulp—he'd already lost track—it had actually started to taste good. And Jessica was already less annoying. Her smirk was almost... _cute_ , in a way, though it pained him to even think it. And she really did have nice eyes...

A small, nagging voice in the back of his mind warned him that these were all signs that reality was slowly warping. He frowned and decided to ignore it.

Jessica took another generous sip, smiled, and passed him the bottle. "Cheer up, Doc. What's the worst that could happen?"

 

***

 

Twenty minutes later and Stephen was still trying to figure out how he'd ended up lying on a filthy mattress while the woman whom he'd previously classified as the most obnoxious person in the world fucked him.

Or he was fucking her... Hard to say who was doing the fucking exactly. _Either way_ , he thought, _they were fucked._

He lifted his head so he could look down at where they were joined—Jessica's too-strong thighs squeezing his legs as she rode him. She had her head thrown back and her hands fisted in his flannel shirt, breath ghosting in the cold air as she panted above him. He was relieved to find that his pants were still mostly on—they'd just been unzipped and pushed down a little—so at least his bare ass wasn't touching the mattress.

He remembered having more to drink. Probably a lot more. Too much, obviously. And then his memory got a little blurry and confusing. He seemed to recall some kind of lull in the conversation, which should have been awkward, but was instead almost comfortable. So they'd decided to fill it with an awful lot of clumsy groping for reasons that were still unclear to him. Had they kissed? He couldn't really remember if they had or not. But there had definitely been a ridiculous struggle to remove Jessica's too-tight jeans, which had been flung somewhere out into the dark. He vaguely remembered being grateful when she'd pulled a condom out of her jacket pocket and gasping as she rolled it onto him—at least _someone_ in this crackhouse was a responsible adult. And then she'd shoved him down backwards onto the filthy mattress—he was definitely going to have some new bruises on his arms—and climbed on top of him.

 _And that was that_ , he thought.

It all seemed to make sense at the time, but now he was having a lot of trouble thinking clearly. Alcohol and sex did tend to have that effect on him, especially when he decided to try doing both at the same time like an idiot. But even if he was sub-rational right now, he knew that this was absolutely not what they were supposed to be doing.

Talking was hard, especially when Jessica was moving on top of him like that, but he decided to say something about it. "We probably, uh... _oh, fuck_... uh, shouldn't be doing... this."

"Too late, Doc. We're doing it." Jessica sounded way too smug. She grinned at him, then slammed down hard and rolled her hips. They both groaned in unison.

And— _oh god!—_ that felt good. Really, really good. Way too good. His body decided that this was exactly what they were supposed to be doing...

He ran his hands up her pale thighs. Her skin was so smooth and soft. Warm. She moaned and rocked above him. He closed his eyes and breathed hard through his nose. Jessica seemed to be enjoying herself, even if she was doing most of the work. He felt a little bit guilty that he wasn't doing more. Maybe he should have asked if she wanted him to go down on her...

Jessica had started shaking and making noise above him—not the sexy kind—so he opened his eyes. It took him way too long to figure out what was happening. "Wha... why are you laughing?"

Jessica grinned. "Because you are such an uptight, arrogant asshole... and now you're drunk. Fucking some chick you just met. On a mattress that's, like, its own ecosystem. In a crackhouse. I just find it... pretty funny."

 _Ugh_. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. " _Please_ don't talk about the mattress..."

"I'm just sayin'. We're probably causing the extinction of—unf _... oh fuck, yeah!_ —hundreds of new life forms right now."

"Oh god, _shut_ _up!_ " 

She snorted and Stephen couldn't help chuckling, too. If he wasn't so wasted, he'd probably be offended, but he had to admit: it _was_ funny. 

Their eyes met. Stephen reached up impulsively and pulled her down for a sloppy kiss. To his surprise, Jessica allowed it and they kissed until neither of them could resist the urge to move again and the danger of chipping teeth became a real possibility. Jessica tasted like cheap booze, with an underlying hint of potato chip, and she kissed him roughly, yanking on his hair too hard. Stephen didn't care—right now, he thought she was perfect.

Jessica leaned back up and rode him slowly for a while. The drunken urgency that had overtaken them earlier had receded, leaving them both gasping softly as they rocked together. His head was spinning, just a bit, but even that felt pretty good, like he was floating on a gentle ocean. It couldn't last, though...

"Hey, Doc?"

"Yeah?"

"Your creepy-ass scarf is feeling me up."

"Oh, god! _Sorry!_ " _Of course it was_ , he thought. _Christ_ , that was embarrassing...

He let go of Jessica's hips to pull on his pervert of a cloak. The damn thing had actually wormed its way up her shirt. " _What the fuck..?_ " He yanked, and the cloak yanked back and they were suddenly locked in a bizarre tug-of-war.

" _What's wrong with you?_ " he hissed at it. Another tug and, finally, the cloak gave up and dropped back down around his neck, sulking.

Jessica was staring down at him with one eyebrow raised. "Are you..? Are you talking to it?"

"...yes?" Was that the right answer? He really couldn't tell anymore. He just needed her to keep moving.

She laughed and shook her head. " _God_ , you're weird."

" _Strange_."

"What?"

"My name is Strange."

"Doc, that is the dumbest fucking joke. Do not attempt any more humor right now or I swear I will stop fucking you."

 _That would be really bad_ , he thought. _Right_. No more jokes. He shut up and concentrated on the smooth slide of their bodies, how warm she was, how good everything felt. It had been so long since he'd been with someone. He bit his lip to keep from saying something stupid and sentimental.

Their slow rhythm sped up and the mood shifted, desperation creeping back in. _Good, so good_ , he thought. Jessica was panting above him, hair wild, eyes shut. She suddenly gasped out, "Oh fuck, I'm close! Are you close?"

Was he close? Maybe... He'd had a lot to drink—made things hard. _Wait_... not hard. But that wasn't the problem right now. _Made it hard to come_ , he thought. But, oh... _oh!_ He _was_ close.

"Yeah. I'm close," he managed to gasp. Very close—he hadn't realized... " _Fuck_." He could feel everything tensing up inside of him, toes tingling, pleasure shivering through him.

"Come on, Doc. Come on." She shoved at his chest for leverage. "Harder. _Oh fuck_ , _yeah!_ Harder. Oh, that's it. _Oh!_ Fuck."

Jessica ground down onto him and he had a sudden horrible vision of his pelvic bones coming apart—ilium separating from the sacrum, pubic bone snapping—but then she was moaning and clenching around him and he couldn't remember the names of the bones anymore. He thrust once, twice, and then he was coming, too, gasping and clutching at her hips, pushing up as hard as he could into the best feeling he could imagine, chasing his orgasm as long as he could. 

  

***

 

_Wednesday morning, 4:35 am._

They'd barely had a chance to pull themselves back into a semi-decent state, when the fabric of reality tore open and the beast came through, snarling and obviously ravenous for an early morning snack.

Jessica grabbed Stephen and shoved him back, facing the creature, fists clenched and ready. He thought it was a nice gesture even if he was pretty sure he could handle this by himself, drunk or sober.

The creature had finally noticed them. Its huge jaw dropped open, revealing row upon row of shark-like teeth. A thick rope of brownish drool dripped slowly down and spattered on the mattress. Stephen shuddered.

Jessica shook her head in awe. " _Holy shit!_ That thing is way bigger than I thought it would be."

"That's what she said."

Jessica groaned. "Oh, for fuck's sake..." But she flashed him a fond smile over her shoulder. 

And Stephen knew the night hadn't been a waste in any sense of the word.


	2. Let's Get It On (Stephen/ghost)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen/Ghost
> 
> It's laundry day. And Stephen is scared to go into the basement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sexual harassment by a ghost, sex with a ghost, laundry
> 
> [Let's Get it On](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=x6QZn9xiuOE) by Marvin Gaye

Stephen paused at the top of the steps and peered down into the gloom filling the Sanctum's basement. The stair under his foot creaked as he leaned forward, trying to see better. He thought the darkness down there seemed heavier than just an absence of light—more like a liquid, filling the space and flowing into every corner.

 _This_ , he thought, _is why he hated laundry day._

The cloak shifted restlessly on his shoulders, as if to ask what the hell they were waiting for.

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Why did you want to come down here anyway?"

Although they went everywhere together now, the cloak never came with him when he did laundry. Stephen had no idea why. Maybe sentient clothes were scared of being washed or had nightmares about tumbling in the dryer. _Whatever_.

Today was different, apparently. The cloak thumped him on the back, impatient.

Stephen gave it a suspicious glance. "Right. Okay."

He conjured a small flame above his palm. The lights never worked down here, hadn't since he'd moved in. A few months ago, he'd gone through the whole basement, replacing light bulbs, checking the wiring. But when he'd flipped the switch in the breaker box to turn the power back on, the new bulbs had burst one by one until the basement was dark again. He figured hiring an electrician would be a waste of time. The issue was not electrical.

Stephen was pretty sure ghosts were the problem.

He knew there were at least a few in the basement, could sense them watching him whenever he came down--their presence just brushing up against the edges of his consciousness, light and insubstantial like cobwebs. They'd kept their distance for the most part, though, until the last time he'd been forced to do laundry.

An encounter with some kind of slime demon had turned out badly, and he'd finally run out of clean robes. That morning, he'd been leaning over, busy dragging clothes out of the dryer and into the laundry basket, when something had very definitely pinched his ass. He'd jumped and whirled around, but of course there was nothing behind him. Then, earlier today, he'd just finished shoving everything into the washer and had reached up to grab the laundry soap when an invisible hand caressed him and then slapped him playfully. And that slap had turned everything from ominous and creepy into just plain creepy—no mistaking the intent behind that.

Was it really too much to ask to not be sexually harassed by an invisible pervert while doing laundry?

Apparently it was.

All he had to do now, he told himself, was move the wet clothes to the dryer and get the fuck out. Easy. Then, he'd only need to make one more trip down and he could put off laundry day for another week and a half, at least.

Stephen stopped in front of the washer and glanced around. Nothing. Not yet, anyway. He waved his hand and the little flame jumped up to a candle on the shelf, making shadows swell and shift around him. 

 _Right_. The sooner he got this done, the sooner he could get out of here. He reached for the lid of the washer and the cloak jumped off his shoulders and retreated back to the stairs. Stephen scoffed at it. "Yeah, I thought so."

He lifted the lid and paused, listening, sensing, but the basement was suspiciously quiet. Oppressive. Almost like something was waiting for him to make the first move.

 _Stupid to just stand here like an idiot_ , Stephen thought. He reached in to grab his wet clothes and there it was: two hands, or the feeling of them, settling on his hips. A man's hands, based on the size.

" _Hey!_ " He spun around and whacked at the hands. Nothing there to actually hit, of course, but it was an instinct. And the feeling disappeared. Stephen glared at the empty room behind him. Nothing but boxes and trunks, impenetrable darkness beyond that. But he swore he could sense a hint of amusement from somewhere nearby.

"Not funny, asshole."

And now the unmistakable sound of laughter.

Stephen shook his head in annoyance. Acknowledging this dick was apparently just giving him what he wanted. He decided to ignore it and just get the laundry done.

He turned back around and began tugging his clothes out of the washer and flinging them into the dryer. The hands were suddenly back—not really doing anything, just resting lightly on his hips. Stephen clenched his jaw, itching to react, but he kept working.

At least this motherfucker was already dead.

The hands just stayed where they were while he transferred the clothes, not moving, not teasing, not doing much of anything. Stephen could almost forget they were there.

Almost done. The bottom of the washer was hard to reach, even for someone who was tall with long arms. Apparently, a past Master decided they needed an industrial-sized model. Maybe they ran into a lot of slime demons... His socks and underwear always ended up crammed into the back of the machine. He leaned in to reach a sock stuck on the side and the hands chose that moment to slide down and grab his ass.

He couldn't quite stifle an embarrassing gasp of surprise. _Don't react,_ he thought _._ Don't give him what he wants...

And he'd forgotten what he was doing... _Right_. The sock. He reached for it again and the hands gave him a hearty squeeze. He swore he could feel strong thumbs digging into his ass crack.

"What the _fuck_...?"

One of the hands stayed on his ass, but the other moved slowly back to his hip. The energy in the room changed—no longer amused and teasing. Something else, something heavier. Stephen stopped moving, still holding the wet sock, just waiting to see what the hands would do next. His breathing was suddenly too loud in the empty room, echoing off boxes and metal ducts.

He reached down slowly and tossed the sock in the dryer, straightened back up. The hand on his hip slid around to the front and cupped him through his pants, rubbed against him gently.

And... _oh_. That felt good. He was hard almost instantly. The hand stilled then, waiting. A question left hanging in the air.

Stephen was torn. On the one hand, he knew he was probably letting a horny ghost get off on using his body. And he was pretty sure he wouldn't have liked this guy if they'd met when he was alive—he seemed like a major dick—so Stephen felt maybe he was lowering his standards. Just a bit. Even beyond the whole issue of the guy being dead.

On the other hand— _oh, god!_ —he wanted to get off. So much. Since the weather had turned colder, his fingers had gotten worse—bad enough that he hadn't been able to jerk off. Not properly, anyway. He'd been desperate for weeks. Had even considered buying some type of sex toy to help out, but his wounded pride always stopped him.

The hands waited patiently for him to make up his mind.

 _Oh_ , _hell_. Why not? He'd done weirder things already. Probably just last week. He shrugged and muttered, "Okay. Yes."

Immediately, some invisible force was pulling at the front of his scrubs, undoing the knot. He'd kept these because they were easy for him to get on and off when his hands weren't cooperating. Easy for ghosts too, apparently... Couldn't ghosts just pass through clothes, though? Did his pants really need to come off? He'd have to rethink some of his assumptions about them. There were some books in the Sanctum library about ghosts—he remembered seeing them when he'd reorganized. Where had he put them, though..?

And then his pants were being tugged down and he was suddenly naked—no underwear because they were all in the wash, of course. Stephen gasped as invisible fingers wrapped around his erection. _Fuck_ , they were cold! He shivered and goosebumps rose on his skin. But as chilly as they were, the fingers were also skilled. And they worked over his length with surprising dexterity. Whoever this asshole was or had been, he knew what he was doing. Stephen sagged against the washer, panting. A minute more and he was desperate to come.

So, of course the hand stopped when he was right on the edge. _Oh_ , _you_ _dick_ , Stephen thought.

Something cold poked at his ass, nudging his cheeks apart, and he clenched involuntarily. _Oh_.

He hadn't really considered _that_ , though maybe he should have. Anal sex with a dead person—he hoped this thing used to be a person, anyway. Just the thought was surreal... _At least they_ _wouldn't need a condom_ , he thought. He choked a little at the absurdity of that.  _Oh god_ , he was about to lose it, and that would be the end—once he started laughing, he wasn't going to be able to stop.

Before he went insane, though, he really wanted to get off. If this was what he had to do to make that happen, well... 

"Just do it," he growled.

The thing behind him moved up closer against him, surrounding him in what felt almost like an embrace. The hands tightened on his hips, and Stephen gasped as something chilly pushed inside his ass.

It didn't hurt at all, but it did feel oddly invasive—the cold slipping into him and then filling him up, stretching him out from the inside. He tensed up, but it didn't seem to matter—whatever was in there met no resistance, didn't slow down. He couldn't even classify what he was feeling—more like an ice-water enema than sex—but it moved and pulsed inside his body like a live thing. 

 _Or a dead thing_ , Stephen thought, and shuddered.

Two hands were still on him, he reasoned—one on his cock and one holding his hip—so this must be some kind of ghost penis. He'd never considered the possibility of ghosts having penises. The topic just hadn't come up before... He felt insane laughter building up again at the thought, but it came out as a chocked off grunt as the thing behind him rocked him forward into the edge of the washer.

He groaned, low and desperate as the presence started to thrust, surprisingly gentle for something that had been so eager just a few minutes ago. Whatever was inside him felt so good pressing and shifting against his prostate, and the hand on his dick was teasing in the best possible way. But he was cold. So cold. He was shivering continuously now. He almost didn't care anymore. The thing behind him, fucking him, was strong—stronger than he was. He could feel it holding him up, shoving him up onto his toes with each thrust.

Slowly, so slowly, he could feel the mass inside him becoming more solid, until it actually felt like a real cock, albeit a cold one. Still no pain, just a burning stretch inside that felt good. His muscles were loose now, relaxed enough so everything could slide in and out easily as the thing fucked him. And what they were doing finally felt like real sex. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned as the thing pushed in deep. He was suddenly on the verge of orgasm again. A cold hand caressed his balls and they tightened against his body. And— _fuck_ —that was the thing that pushed him over the edge. 

" _Oh_. I'm, oh... _fuck_. I—I'm going to come," he rasped. Pleasure rushed through him, hot and cold. Oh, yeah—he was definitely coming... " _Oh. Oh, shit_." His body clenched down hard around something unyielding and a shivery thrill raced from his pelvis up his spine. The hand on his cock rubbed him through his climax until he was shaking and gasping, completely spent. 

It took him a little while to notice that the presence behind him was still hard. And Stephen wondered blearily if ghosts could actually ejaculate. He supposed he was about to find out... 

He let himself go nearly boneless, relying on his partner to hold him up. One invisible arm wrapped around his hips, protecting him from the hard edge of the washing machine as the thrusts came harder and faster.

One more hard push, and the thing behind him stilled, going tense and rigid inside him. A burst of cold flooded his insides— _should have used a condom_ , he thought—and then everything relaxed. Stephen could feel it slipping out of him and away. He shivered violently and slumped down against the washing machine, feeling absolutely wrecked and used up but surprisingly okay.

A quick press of lips to the back of his neck. Stephen smiled slightly, mumbled, "thanks." The hands squeezed him softly once more then disappeared—he could feel the presence retreating back into the shadows of the basement.

Stephen rested against the edge of the washer and waited for his heart to stop thudding in his chest, for his legs to stop shaking. He let his eyes wander over all of the warnings and instructions printed inside the lid for idiots, frowning when he noticed the machine had different settings you could choose depending on what you were washing: one for blood, another for grass stains, another for ketchup, and about a dozen more random stains. What could possibly be so different between all of these that someone needed separate washing modes for each one? Did people really care this much about laundry? He'd never thought that much about it before. Maybe he wasn't the crazy one...

He finally straightened up, stretching and wincing at the little twinges of pain coming from his back and hips. He turned around and realized the cloak was still hanging near the bottom of the stairs. 

Stephen narrowed his eyes at it. "Did you watch all that?"

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

 _Suspicious_. He yanked his scrubs back up and started the dryer—might as well finish the job... "Did you know that was going to happen? Is that why you wanted to come down?"

The cloak remained as silent and inscrutable as ever.

"Next time, you're going in here." He tipped his head at the washing machine. "I don't even care if everything comes out pink."

The cloak made a mad dash for the basement door.


	3. Wish You Were Here (Stephen/Mordo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen/Mordo
> 
> Short and angsty and sappy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings
> 
> [Wish You Were Here](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=IXdNnw99-Ic) by Pink Floyd

It wasn't like this when they met in the real world.

Sometimes they fought. Or they argued. Or they did both. They'd injured each other countless times. On a few rare occasions, they'd come close to killing each other.

But it never happened. Neither one could upset the delicate equilibrium they'd found. Together they were perfect—balanced on a knife's edge, like chemistry. Two volatile elements rendered harmless and inert. 

And after every battle, every narrow victory or defeat, Wong would just shake his head and sigh. He could never understand this weakness in Stephen. In both of them.

Stephen thought they could go on like this forever.

But in his dreams they were new. They could be something different.

Sometimes Mordo killed him. Stephen would look into his eyes and see the intent—that horrible resignation and sadness that this was the end—before a wave of magic would overtake him and he'd fade out into black. Or he would feel Mordo's strong hands around his throat, pressing and pressing until the weight of them pushed him back out into the real world. He would always wake up, sweating and shaking, but he would feel alive.

Sometimes he killed Mordo. Rage would overwhelm him and he'd lash out. And the fire that erased Mordo would overtake him too because he'd destroyed something in himself. He wasn't a killer.

And sometimes it was like this:

They met and they didn't fight. They were friends again. Maybe they were lovers. Mordo would be there and he would smile at Stephen the way he used to. And everything would tip suddenly into a different kind of perfection. 

Their lips would meet in a desperate kiss. And Mordo would cover Stephen's body with his own, so heavy and warm that he felt almost real. They would move together until the pleasure built up between them. Hot enough to melt them down like metal and fuse them into one thing. And that single moment that was strong enough to erase everything that had come before. 

Stephen woke up and he was empty again. He wiped at his face and breathed until he was calm and the shaking stopped. 

On nights like this, the cloak left him alone. He was too unsettled. None of its usual charms could soothe him back to sleep or offer any comfort. So it hung in the corner, stiff and formal, and waited until they could go back to the way things were supposed to be. 

Stephen sat and stared out the window for a long time, trying not to move and chase the dream away.

It had been so long—years and years. So many years, he'd lost count. They'd been enemies now far longer than they'd been friends. A history so deep and complicated, it could never be erased or forgotten.

But on nights like this, when the air was heavy with rain and the smells and sounds of the city drifted in through his open window, the time that stretched out between them seemed like nothing. So easy to cross the distance that he could almost go back. Back to what might have been.

"I miss you," he whispered.


	4. Strange Magic (Stephen/Sam)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen Strange/Sam Wilson
> 
> While trying to contain a demon, Stephen and Sam run into a bit of a complication...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly spoilery warnings: very dubious consent due to sex pollen (more fluff than angst, though), shameless smut, implied pansexual!Stephen, Sam is a bit of a bastard.
> 
> [Strange Magic](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=11A8JZ-RDDo) by Electric Light Orchestra

Sam Wilson—former Avenger, superhero, and current sexiest being in existence—stood in the doorway of the wrecked office.

It didn't matter that he was completely covered in gray dust from being thrown through drywall and had a gash on his forehead that, in Stephen's professional opinion, was going to need stitches. Soon.

He was still the best looking thing Stephen had ever seen. He wanted to grab Sam and do filthy, unspeakable things to him.

Or check him for head injuries.

Wait... what? Stephen shook his head, trying to clear it. What the fuck was he thinking? 

He felt odd, fuzzy—thoughts moving too slowly and in all the wrong directions. He tried to remember what the two of them were doing here in this office. _Former office_ , he amended. The place had been pretty well trashed—copier and desks overturned, computer monitors smashed to bits. Shredded copy paper was still drifting down around them like confetti.

They'd been in a battle, right? The moth demon. Some assholes had summoned it. He remembered that part. He remembered Sam and Steve Rogers and the little guy had shown up to help him out. What was his name..? The others had stayed behind to deal with the cultists who started the whole mess, while he and Sam had flown off after the demon. And then... something happened.

He tried to push through the haze in his mind, focus on what was important. He began counting backwards by eights from one hundred—an old trick to clear his head—and that seemed to help. 

He realized they were both pretty banged-up, now that he could take a moment and assess their injuries.

Sam looked okay, from what he could see. Aside from the forehead. He looked alert and oriented. And sexy as hell. 

Stephen shut his eyes. That was... _odd_.

Definitely something wrong with him, though, beyond the inappropriate thoughts... He moved a hand up to the side of his chest, feeling along a sore spot there. He was pretty sure he'd broken a rib or two—no pneumothorax or anything dangerous, he wasn't having any breathing issues—but he swore he could feel the bones grinding together when he pressed in. And he could feel blood seeping down the side of his face from a scalp wound. Somewhere. He moved his hand up to his head, felt around carefully, but his hair was so matted with blood he couldn't find a wound. It was possible he had a concussion—that would explain why he was having so much trouble concentrating, and why he couldn't remember what happened.

None of that mattered, though, because Sam said, "I really want to fuck you right now."

And, suddenly, all Stephen could think about was Sam. _Sam, Sam_ , _Sam_... He felt like he could write poetry about the man, an impulse he'd never felt before in his life. _Ever_. But Sam Wilson was the most attractive thing he'd ever seen and he deserved to have poems written about him. Stephen really, really wanted to kiss him. Or fuck him. Or be fucked by him. All of that, actually. It all sounded pretty good right now.

He shrugged and that made is ribs hurt. He didn't care anymore, barely felt it. "Okay."

Sam's smile lit up his whole face. "Right on, man!" 

Stephen grinned and blinked. That whole exchange seemed off, somehow... But he couldn't quite figure out what was wrong with it.

He tried to think back to the exact moment when everything had started going sideways. He and Sam had followed the moth demon into this empty office building. He remembered chasing it up the stairs. Five flights of fighting and he was sweaty and exhausted and covered in bits of moth... _fur_ , maybe? _Bug fluff?_ And they'd cornered it in here, then banishing the demon back to its own dimension had taken the rest out of him... And then... then...

Sam was suddenly standing right in front of him, and his thoughts disintegrated into white noise.

Stephen opened his mouth to say something, but Sam grabbed him and kissed him. And— _oh!_ —he was good at this. Stephen was a little taller, but not by too much, and their mouths fit together with almost perfect precision. Sam's lips were soft and warm and just slightly prickly. Stephen realized that even though he'd kissed a lot of people, he'd never before kissed someone who also had facial hair. He'd kissed men, but no one especially hairy. That struck him as funny, for some reason, and he huffed out a laugh into Sam's mouth. Sam groaned loudly and ran his hand up to the back of Stephen's head, and pushed his tongue into Stephen's mouth. Sam's ridiculous costume was in the way, digging hard into Stephen's sore ribs, but he couldn't manage to pull himself away for a moment to demand that he take it off. The cloak wrapped around the two of them and cinched them together. Apparently, it was into this, too.

He should have been tired, and he was tired, but— _god damn!_ —he was turned on right now. His erection was almost painful, trapped in his pants. He wanted to tear them off. More importantly, he wanted to tear Sam's pants off. But he thought maybe he'd be able to come just from rutting against the other man's body, something that hadn't happened since high school. _God_ , he felt like he was high. If he didn't know any better, he'd say they were under the influence of some kind of spell...

That thought triggered something in his mind. There was something he was supposed to remember. Something important. About this particular kind of demon..? Something about pheromones, maybe? Some kind of defensive strategy..?

_Oh, right. Shit!_

"It's the moth demon," he gasped.

Sam pulled his head back and stared at him, confused. "What?"

"The moth demon. It releases pheromones as a kind of defense mechanism. Makes anyone who breathes too much of it insane with lust. Which is why— _fuck_ , stop for a minute!"—he shoved Sam's hand away from his crotch in an act of pure willpower—"why we want to fuck each other so badly."

Sam looked skeptical. And hot. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure. Did you want to fuck me earlier? I mean, before we got up here?"

Sam thought about it seriously for a moment. "No."

"But now you do. What changed?"

"Uh... I don't know..." Sam frowned, and Stephen had to think about traumatic brain injuries and crushed vertebrae to keep from lurching forward and kissing him again.

He remembered something else... "I wrote a note on my arm so I wouldn't forget." Stephen shoved his sleeve up to reveal the message he'd written to himself hours earlier in the Sanctum.

"What does it say?"

He tilted his arm so Sam could read his messy doctor's scrawl:  _Demon_ _will make you horny. Do not have sex with anything._

"Oh." Sam looked so crestfallen that Stephen wanted to scrub the ink off his arm and forget again. "You must be right then."

Stephen nodded. He'd never hated being right so much before. This was a new experience for him.

But then Sam grinned suddenly and his eyes gleamed. "But..."

"But what?"

Sam leaned in close again so he could bite down gently on Stephen's earlobe. He practically growled, breath hot and humid, "I still want to have sex with you." Then he reached around to slip his hand down the back of Stephen's pants. He grabbed a handful of ass and squeezed.

Stephen groaned and tried to rock against him. Sam's metal belt was in the way. "Yeah. Me too," he gasped.  _Wait... that came out wrong_. "I mean, I want to, uh... have sex with _you_. But we shouldn't. _Fuck!_  Hold on, I need to think..."

Sam had started rubbing against him now as well, pulling their hips together with the hand that was still massaging Stephen's ass. That damn belt was still digging into his crotch, but Stephen was past caring. He was finding it increasingly difficult to form coherent sentences. The harder Sam rutted against him, the more muddled his brain got.

"This is not... It's not, uh... real. Not real. Neither of us can consent right now. So we can't... uh, we shouldn't..."

What shouldn't they do? _Oh god_ , he was so confused again.

 _Right_. They shouldn't have sex. Because..? Why shouldn't they? He was having trouble coming up with a good reason why this was a bad idea.

 _Oh, yeah_. "We don't have a condom." _That_ was why.

Stephen felt pretty good that he'd remembered this time. It wasn't responsible to have sex without a condom. Also since he'd become a Sorcerer, Stephen had had sex with all sorts of things. And it hadn't always been possible to use protection. He might have picked something up somewhere. He got tested regularly, but those panels wouldn't detect any STDs from another plane of existence. And he would feel terrible if he put Sam at risk. Even though the chances of Sam catching anything from him were really quite low if Stephen was the one getting fucked... 

 _No_. Stephen shook his head hard to dislodge that thought. He needed to be more responsible than that...

Sam seemed disappointed. "You're a wizard, right? Can't you, like, magic one up or something?"

"Doesn't work that way, sorry. At least, I don't think it does..."

"Well, _fuck_." He grabbed Stephen's arms and kissed him once, hard. "Doesn't matter anyway—we don't need one for _this_." And he shoved Stephen back until his legs hit the edge of one of the few desks that were still standing. He lined their hips up and thrust, grinding their erections together.

It felt really good, if a little painful. Sam pushed at Stephen until he was sitting on the desk and he could wrap his legs around Sam's hips. Stephen tucked his face down into Sam's neck and breathed in. _Oh_ , he smelled so good. He licked at the other man's skin. He tasted good, too—a little like drywall, but also salty and fresh. He bit down a little until Sam made a contented grumbling sound. And Stephen was suddenly desperate to taste other parts of him.

But Sam had other ideas. He was pushing Stephen's robes out of the way and undoing the flies of his pants. And then he was murmuring in Stephen's ear, "Can I touch you? Is that all right?" 

Stephen could only nod against his shoulder. He wanted that so badly. He was afraid he wouldn't last too long right now, though—would end up embarrassing himself in front of Sam. The first touch of Sam's hot hand around his cock sent an electric thrill through him, and he had to press his bruised ribs hard against Sam's ridiculous bird costume to keep from coming. His whole body tensed in anticipation.

Sam just held him for a moment, fingers exploring his skin gently. " _Shit_ , you're ready for me, aren't you? You're already there." His voice was so low and soft.

Stephen just muttered, "Yeah." He was concentrating too hard on not coming to be eloquent right now.

Sam moved his hand up and down and Stephen moaned and pressed against him, fighting against the urge to thrust into that delicious friction. He was so close already and they'd barely even touched each other. He'd never felt this sensitive before.

Sam started working him, gently at first, like he might break. Or come too soon and ruin everything. He was murmuring in Stephen's ear, "Yeah, man. You like that, don't you? Yeah, you do, don't you? You want it so bad. Oh, yeah. Come on. _Shit_ , yeah. Come on, man." And Stephen thought it was, perhaps, the most erotic thing he'd ever heard. He shut his eyes and whimpered.

Sam used one hand to keep fisting him, harder now, while he ran the palm of the other over the head of Stephen's cock. Stephen whined pathetically. He was leaking so much now that everything was slick and smooth and hot, unbearably hot. _Fuck_ , he was ready... Sam trapped him in his fist and rubbed his thumb against the slit, over and over until Stephen was shaking and gasping into his chest.

He couldn't hold off the inevitable forever... "Sam... _fuck_. Sam, I'm close. _Oh. Oh, fuck_..." 

"I want to see you. Come on, man, let me see you."

What did he mean..? _Oh_.

He leaned back a little so Sam could rest his head against Stephen's chest, look down as his hands worked over Stephen's cock. Stephen groaned and tipped his head back. _Fuck, he was close_. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe through his nose. Just knowing Sam was watching him sent a delicious shiver up his spine.

Sam's hand sped up, sliding fast on Stephen's slick flesh. "Oh, man. That's hot," he whispered. He sounded out of breath, too.. "Come on, man. _Come on_."

Sam's voice was driving him crazy—it was just as sexy as the rest of him. And— _oh god!_ —suddenly he was there. He grabbed desperately at the back of Sam's head and held on, panting as he pushed up into his hand, spilling over Sam's fist in hot pulses.

 _Oh, fuck, that was good_. After he'd managed to get his breath back a little, Stephen pulled Sam up for another kiss. He leaned in closer and murmured in his ear, "I want to suck your cock."

Sam swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah."

Sam backed off a bit so Stephen could get off the desk. Stephen took a second to tuck himself back into his pants—wouldn't be very professional to get caught hanging out like that. He grabbed Sam and spun them around until Sam was pressed up against the desk, and got down carefully on his knees. He winced as the movement jostled his sore ribs. The pain wasn't bad, though. This was worth it.

Now that he was at eye-level with Sam's crotch, Stephen could see what a mess he'd made of the other man's pants. He thought briefly about licking it off— _too weird maybe?_ —and then he remembered that he knew magic.

He must really be out of it if he was having this much trouble thinking. But he couldn't quite remember what was wrong. _Distracted_ , he thought. Who wouldn't be distracted by Sam Wilson?

The cloak tapped him on the cheek. Stephen blinked and realized he'd been drifting again. What was he supposed to be doing..? _Oh, right_. The spell. He muttered a quick incantation under his breath, waved his hand, and all the evidence disappeared in a little flash of light and a puff of smoke that smelled vaguely like burning brake pads. _Odd_.

"Woah," Sam whispered. "That is crazy."

Stephen rubbed one hand impatiently over the bulge in Sam's now pristine pants, which made the man above him gasp in a very satisfying way. But soon he ran into another problem.

Stephen would never have called his own clothes 'simple', but at least they were relatively straightforward and easy to operate. He had no idea where to even start getting Sam out of his pants. How did the man even take a piss? He pawed ineffectually at the material for a few embarrassing moments before giving up.

"Uh, maybe you could..?" He gestured at Sam's flies. "I don't want to break anything."

"Oh... yeah, sorry." Sam performed some of his own magic, and the pants were suddenly open. 

Stephen thought Sam's cock was just as perfect as the rest of him. He let his fingers slide up the length of his erection, lingering just under the head, where the skin was so soft. _Oh god,_ he wanted this so badly. And so did Sam, judging by the state of him. Stephen didn't really see the point of drawing out the inevitable, so he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the head of Sam's cock.

Sam gasped, " _Oh, shit!"_ and grabbed Stephen's filthy, blood-matted hair. And Stephen thought that  _this_ — _yes!_ —this was definitely worth waiting for.

It had been a while since he'd done this with a human partner. He hummed happily against Sam's skin. The shape and feel of a man's cock was much more pleasant in his mouth than... _other things._ Plus, Sam's penis was one of the nicest he'd ever seen or tasted. He flicked his tongue along the underside of the frenulum and moaned in appreciation when Sam grabbed harder at his hair. Sometimes he wasn't into that, but right now he seemed to be turned on by everything Sam did.

He let Sam set the pace for a while. Sam's hands were in his hair guiding his head—too gently, in Stephen's opinion—up and down his length. His cock was deliciously smooth and wet, and perfect in every way. Stephen ran his hands up Sam's thighs. He wanted to touch more of him, more bare skin, but his damn pants were still in the way.

The quiet noises Sam was making—grunts, deep satisfied groans, and the occasional choked-off word—were incredibly arousing. Stephen was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing with his mouth. He moved a hand between his own legs. He was already hard again, and desperate—close to edge of another orgasm. He didn't think that was physically possible at his age, but there it was...

Time to get fucking serious. Stephen took a deep breath. He slid his mouth down until Sam's cock was pressing against the back of his throat and then swallowed around him. Sam swore very creatively and pulled hard on his hair.

That was a pretty good trick—Stephen had needed to practice a lot before he could do it, but all that time spent gagging himself was worth it just for the reactions it got from his partners.

He took another deep breath and did it again. This time, Sam's whole body shook and he started gasping for air.

" _Oh, shit!_ Ste—oh! I'm coming. Oh— _oh, god_   _damn!_ "

He grew suddenly stiffer in Stephen's mouth and his muscles tensed like he'd touched a live wire. Then he pushed his cock deep into Stephen's throat and came.

Stephen let Sam hold his head down and push into him until he was fairly desperate for air. He tapped Sam's thigh and the other man yanked his hands away from his hair, muttering, "Oh, _god_ , sorry man. Sorry..."

Stephen's eyes were watering, he was out of breath, and he would definitely have a sore throat tomorrow, but he felt great. He didn't even mind Sam's bad blow-job etiquette. Sometimes people just got carried away... And, right now, he was willing to do anything Sam wanted.

"You okay down there? I'm sorry if I got too rough..."

"No, I'm... I'm fine. I'm just, uh..." _God_ , this was embarrassing. He felt like a teenager again. He wanted more. Right now. He wanted to go back in time so he could suck Sam's cock all over again. He rubbed at himself through his pants.

Sam had finally noticed his problem. "Oh, man. _Really?_ "

He knew Sam was laughing at him, but he didn't care. Because Sam was smiling. And he looked amazing when he smiled. Stephen felt like he could just sit here and stare at Sam Wilson smiling for hours.

"Come on back up here. Let me take care of you."

Stephen was more than happy to oblige him.

 

***

 

A short time later, Sam Wilson was still very objectively good looking, but Stephen didn't feel like he needed to fuck him anymore.

That, plus, he had no problem now remembering everything that had happened. And a soul-crushing combination of guilt and shame had quickly replaced all of the lust. He figured those were all pretty good signs that the demon pheromones were finally wearing off. 

Stephen tried, but could you really apologize to a man for getting him involved in a fight with an insane sex-demon and then sucking his cock in a ruined office building? Stephen didn't think you could.

Sam Wilson, however, was taking it all very well. Too well, maybe...

"I'm good, man. _Really_ , as I said before... You don't have to apologize." He paused. "Actually..." He gave Stephen a sheepish glance.

Stephen narrowed his eyes at him. "Actually, what?"

"Well, it's just... You got a lot closer to that moth-thing than I did. And, uh, I think you must've gotten a much stronger dose of the, uh, sex stuff than me. I—I think mine wore off a little while ago."

 _Oh, god._ "When exactly?" 

"Uh, probably mid-way through when I was, uh, you know"—he made a jerking motion with his hand. "The first time, I mean."

Stephen groaned and covered his face. 

"I'm sorry, man." Sam shook his head and held out his hands."I didn't mean to take advantage, it's just... you were so into it. And I was into it. And then it was just... already happening. You know?"

Stephen groaned again.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. It's just..." Sam paced around the wrecked room. "This whole superhero thing. It's just not what I thought it would be, you know? It's—it's rough, man. And we've been on the run and—" he made a vague gesture and sighed. "I just haven't had a chance to get laid. And then, you were just... _there_. And you know you look good, right?"

Stephen tried hard to scowl at him, but it came out as more of a smirk.

"I know that none of that is an excuse, but..."

Stephen waved him off. "It's fine. It's still my fault. I should have been more careful. Used some kind of protection spell or something. I knew what we were facing and I was reckless. I'm sorry you got caught up in that." _Was it really so bad, though?_ "And, anyway, I, uh... I had fun." He gave Sam a quick smile.

Sam smiled back, relieved. "Yeah, I... Well, obviously, I had fun, too." 

The silence was broken by someone, presumably Steve Rogers, squawking in Sam's earpiece.

Sam turned away. "Yeah," Sam said. "We're fine." A pause. "Everything's taken care of. Yeah, it's gone. Yeah. No injured civilians. A little bit of property damage. Not too bad." Sam looked around and winced. A longer pause, and a lot more squawking. "Yeah, I'll be there, just give me a few minutes." 

Sam looked back up at Stephen, and they just stared at each other for a few moments.

Stephen sighed, and checked around his clothes to make sure he was all put back together. And then it was time for him and the cloak to take the walk of shame...

"I'd better, uh, get back to the, uh"— _back to the hospital,_  he thought, _to get his head sutured_ —"back to the Sanctum." _That wasn't very smooth..._

Sam nodded. He turned slowly, possibly reluctantly, toward the doors.

"Hold on a second..." With a quick flick of the wrist and a swirl of his fingers, Stephen conjured up a business card and passed it over to Sam. "Look me up the next time you're in the city. Or..."—he shrugged—"if you ever, uh, get fed up with this superhero business, and you just want to talk, or something... I can be anywhere in the world within seconds." _Smoother_.

Sam stared down at the card for a moment.

_Doctor Stephen Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts._

That was all it said—no phone number, e-mail address, or anything else that might be useful.

"How do I..?" He held it up, puzzled.

"Just burn it," Stephen said, and smirked. "I'll get the message."

Sam Wilson—former Avenger, current superhero, and probably still one of the sexiest beings in existence—grinned at Stephen and winked.

"Thanks, man. I could use a little more magic in my life."


	5. Wave of Mutilation (Stephen/everything)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen/Everything 
> 
> On another world, Stephen takes part in an ancient ritual. A little bit of fluff, and a little bit of angst... A lot of really weird sex.
> 
> Special Kinktober edition! Seriously. Please read the warnings!
> 
> *contains no actual mutilation*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: demon/alien orgy, dubious consent, xenophilia, group sex, uncomfortable sex
> 
> This started off as an excuse to write some really kinky porn, but actually grew a plot and some angst along the way. We were covering the evolution of sex and reproductive strategies in class at the time, and I love alien-world-building and thinking about alien cultures. So, yeah... I can't really excuse this. But, I think it ended up becoming less porny and more thoughtful as I wrote it. Still porny, though...
> 
> Disclaimer: All alien names were generated by stabbing randomly at the keyboard. Any resemblance to real names is purely coincidental.
> 
> [Wave of Mutilation](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=_BC061qfj_o) by The Pixies

"...and every ten cycles, when the three moons each reach their zeniths on the same night, the vortex between the third and the sixth dimensions of Calex will open and..."

 _Zeniths_ , Stephen thought, dully. Was that really the plural of zenith? It didn't sound right, but the translation spell insisted...

He stifled a yawn and tried to focus on the Sorcerer Supreme's words as they were translated in his head instead of the buzzing drone that was her actual speaking voice.

Reminded him of summers in Nebraska. He remembered lying under a little copse of trees with the whole world spread out around him—a sea of grass, stretching on forever. The hypnotic rise and fall of the cicadas' song as they called out to each other in the twilight.

A time and a place he hadn't thought about for a very long time. Back then, he'd been desperate to get away, to leave that life behind like a shed skin. And he'd pretty much accomplished that goal. Here he was, on a tiny moon circling a massive red and orange planet, in a distant galaxy some incredible, unfathomable distance from Earth. Stephen didn't think it was possible to get farther away from Nebraska.

At-ye elbowed him hard in the ribs and he snapped awake. He scowled down at the little alien, but ze just shrugged innocently and gestured at the speaker. Stephen shook his head to clear it and tried to pay attention.

They'd all gathered here on this moon that didn't even have a name, just a numerical designation, to perform a ritual that required the skill of thirty sorcerers bound together, wielding their power as one—the only way to stop the destruction of this world, and possibly others.

It was a noble cause, and the right thing to do—helping people. And Stephen really didn't want to be here.

He shifted uncomfortably on the lumpy pillow, tried focusing on something else to stay awake. Intricate designs had been carved into the rock walls around them and then embellished with paint, but also magic. The colors glowed faintly in the dim light. He wondered if they served some purpose other than decoration.

Most of the alien cultures he'd visited so far relied solely on magic, but these people—the wasp-like Calexans—had fused their magic with technology to create a harmonious union. The moon, itself, was sparsely populated—the soil was too poor for agriculture and, according to the Calexan he'd talked to, the usable area was too small to bother trying to change that. There was only one moderate-sized city. They could see it rising up in the distance, just make out the spires of gleaming metal shot through with bright veins of the red dirt clay that was used in all of the construction here. It was the center of mining operations on the moon, which was the only industry here, and the only spaceport. And tantalizingly out of reach for Stephen, who wanted nothing more than to go out there and explore. For now, though, he was trapped in this dusty little compound on the edges of a huge freshwater ocean.

He'd made one friend here, so far. At-ye was Stephen's roommate. Bunkmate, actually, since their room had only one sleeping area. And they were the quintessential odd-couple. At-ye was about half Stephen's height, non-gendered, furry, with six, long triple-jointed limbs—one set for walking, the other two acted as arms—and a prehensile tail. Stephen thought ze looked a little like a lemur crossed with a spider. His roommate also didn't wear clothes, just bands of gold metal at zir wrists and ankles. 

Stephen didn't mind sharing a room and a bed with the little alien—the two of them had a lot in common. They were both doctors, for one. It had taken a lot of back and forth discussion and questioning to figure out that At-ye had been the alien equivalent of a psychiatrist before deciding to switch careers and become a Sorcerer. "I just felt I could help more people this way," ze had said.

And ze had about as much respect for the pomp and ceremony of this ridiculous exercise as Stephen did. Which, was to say, none at all. He understood the point, of course—to stop some kind of ravenous cosmic entity from basically swallowing the moon whole—he just felt that maybe the same goal could be accomplished without some of the more... _bizarre_  requirements.

The Sorcerer Supreme droned on. "Tomorrow evening, we will bind our bodies and our spirits to each other in the ancient ritual of"—something untranslatable.

To Stephen it sounded like three clicks and a hiss. He wondered if that was the Calexan word for 'orgy'.

At-ye leaned up to mutter, " _Piss_ , why am I here?"

Stephen snorted. Curses in At-ye's language all related to various bodily functions, but he felt he was probably missing something given the literal translation.

"I don't even have sexual organs."

At-ye's species reproduced completely asexually, by budding off clones. At least Stephen didn't have that particular problem, but he was still wondering why Wong had insisted he come here. 

He'd been cornered by the man in the library late one night a few weeks ago. And after telling him off for eating near the books again, Wong dropped this bombshell on him.

He'd been confused about the point of the whole thing. And why, exactly, he needed to go. "So is this some kind of alien team-building exercise?" 

Wong had sighed and set a stack of books down on the desk. "We sorcerers are part of a larger community. We have a duty to help out when we can. To protect all of the worlds that are a part of that community. Sorcerers from our world have participated in this ritual for thousands of years."

"Why the sex, though?" He was being difficult and he knew it.

Wong frowned at him. "I don't need to explain how binding spells work, do I? Sexual contact is simply the easiest and most effective way to establish a quick bond. And most cultures do not share our hang-ups about sex—they see it as just another biological process. A tool that can be used to streamline complicated magic."

"What if I don't want to do this?"

"You'd be saving lives. Innocent lives. It's your job," Wong had said, simply. His tone suggested that the discussion was over.

Stephen could admit when he'd been beaten. There was no way he could get out of it now—Wong always got what he wanted out of him, sooner or later. He'd sighed and slammed his book shut out of spite. "Have you ever done it?"

Wong just smirked in his mysterious way and continued shelving books. And Stephen was still wondering if this was all some kind of elaborate punishment for eating in the library.

 

***

 

After the interminable speech, they all retreated to the cavern that served as a dining hall for dinner.

He and At-ye sat by themselves at a table off to the side, where they could observe without having to interact with anyone. Stephen felt a small stab of guilt for being so antisocial—he was probably disappointing Wong and disgracing his planet—but this wasn't where he wanted to be right now.

He would do his job here and go home, he'd decided. Nothing more.

Many of the others had obviously participated in this ritual before, probably even looked forward to coming back. Meals were a chance to socialize and re-connect with old friends. The dining hall echoed with the sound of laughter and conversation in dozens of languages. 

Stephen picked at his food while At-ye caught him up on all of the useless gossip about their peers. 

"... and that Calexan with the blue shell, the one standing over by that Sinterian. No, not that one. _That_ one. Yes. She wants the Sorcerer Supreme's job. But no one else in her order likes her, and she's very bad at wards. All wards." Ze threw up one pair of arms, continued eating with the others. "How can someone get so far in their career and still be bad at wards?"

Stephen shrugged. "You'd be surprised." He was thinking, perhaps uncharitably, about Nick. He wasn't the worst doctor Stephen had encountered. He was just... aggressively mediocre. 

At-ye stabbed at a purple vegetable with one of the long forks they used here. Ze sniffed it thoroughly before taking a careful bite. Satisfied, ze shoved the whole thing in zir mouth and chewed loudly.

"And that demon over there..." At-ye continued, when ze could speak again. "The one with horns—I believe she is female. It's hard for me to tell... She was banished from our dimension once. Not sure why... She seemed nice enough when I spoke to her. She's a librarian."

Stephen glanced over. She didn't look dangerous. He wondered what exactly a demon had to do to get banished. He picked something that looked like a rutabaga out of his bowl, stared at it.

"Don't eat that," said At-ye. "Tastes terrible."

Stephen tried a bite. It tasted fine, he thought, a little like a carrot crossed with a potato. He ate the rest.

At-ye made a little noise of disgust.

 

***

 

They were forced to be social after dinner when their Calexan hosts insisted on serving some kind of tea-like drink and everyone stood around and talked.

At-ye took one sip and made a comical gagging face, so Stephen chose not to try his.

He met a few people who were interesting. The demon who was a librarian turned out to have an extensive knowledge of books on neuroscience. She even had one of the massive textbooks Stephen had used during grad school in her collection, along with others from various worlds. And she invited him to stop by her library if he ever visited her dimension. Stephen was tempted to ask what she'd been banished for, but it seemed like it might be rude to bring that up.

He made the rounds and exchanged pleasantries and inane small talk until he was exhausted and he'd grown tired of carrying around a cup of cold tea. He searched for his roommate in the crowd, but At-ye was nowhere to be found. Either ze'd left or ze was too short to see.

Stephen gave up and headed for the door. But before he could escape, someone stepped in front of him, blocking his exit.

He was tall, taller than Stephen and much wider. And also dressed in the robes of a Sorcerer, though his were covered in embroidered symbols and rich embellishment—in stark contrast to Stephen's plain blue, and slightly threadbare robes. Very short, reddish fur—almost velvet—covered what Stephen could see of his skin, and two horns, like those of a ram, curled up from his forehead. His eyes were yellow, with oblong pupils. Classic demon look.

"Hello again, human. We have met before, but only briefly."

When you insulted my roommate and almost caused an inter-dimensional incident, Stephen thought. But he didn't say that, just nodded politely.

"It's Grafka, right? I'm Stephen."

The demon held out a huge, clawed hand. To shake, Stephen realized. It was an odd gesture to encounter here. After a moment's hesitation he reached out and shook it. The demon's grip was surprisingly light, his skin soft and hot.

"Yes, that word is the closest approximation of my true name that your primitive vocal abilities can produce. It is a burden I must endure when interacting with less advanced forms of life."

Veiled insults aside, Stephen had noticed something interesting. Whenever the demon spoke the translation spell echoed bizarrely in his head. It took him a few seconds to figure out why. "You speak French?"

"Yes. I spent a quite few years in your dimension, living in a host on your Earth."

Stephen was confused before he remembered. Demon. _Right_. They liked doing shit like that.

"It was quite enjoyable. The country of France, in particular, I found appealed to my senses. The food there was very good. Quite different from that which I had become accustomed to in the other places I have visited."

"Hmmm." Stephen tried his best to sound interested. This was the worst sort of small-talk he could imagine.

"My host and I lived an entire life together. I was forced to leave when old age and sickness finally claimed my host. I said my farewells to her and returned to my own dimension. I would like to go back some day. Perhaps, if the fates will it..." 

Was that some kind of hint?

"While living on your planet, I fell in love with someone. Or, more accurately, my host fell in love with someone. It was a very unique experience. One which has no equivalent in my culture." The demon paused. "You very much remind me of him."

This was getting seriously awkward. "Well, you know what they say... All humans look alike. Now, if you'll excuse me... I promised my roommate I'd be back before, uh... before it got dark. Good night." He made a half-hearted attempt at a bow, then slipped around the demon and up the stone steps.

He glanced back down once he'd gotten halfway to the top. Grafka was still just standing in the doorway, watching him, eyes glowing yellow in the dark.

 

***

 

At-ye was already in their room when he got back. The alien was holding a book, but staring openly at him as he got ready for bed.

Stephen brushed his teeth and then scrubbed at his face, trying to wash off the grime and dust that seemed to coat everything here, leaning over the metal basin that served as a sink. The locals had no need for hot water, so At-ye had come up with an ingenious spell to heat it up. Making water boil was easy—the trick was getting it to stay at a comfortable temperature. Definitely a useful spell...

Stephen rubbed his hands over his cheeks and decided he could go at least one more day without shaving—he was too tired to bother right now, anyway. When he was reasonably clean, he waved his hand over the bowl and the soapy water disappeared. Most of the daily tasks at the compound were accomplished with magic. They'd learned all of the important housekeeping spells on their first day here.

He pulled a pair of pajamas and a clean t-shirt out of his bag. He glanced over at At-ye—still staring unabashedly—before quickly pulling off his boots, pants, and robes. He hesitated, but decided he should probably change his underwear, too, since it had been more than a day, quickly stepped out of them, and pulled his pajamas on.

At-ye made a thoughtful little squeak.

Stephen sighed—he knew what was coming. "What?"

"Is that your reproductive organ?"

Stephen folded himself into the little nook in the wall that served as a bed. Once inside, he could stretch out almost all the way on the soft padding—it was actually pretty comfortable. Not too claustrophobic. "Yes. It's called a penis."

At-ye made another considering sound and Stephen looked over. 

"I just thought it would be straighter. It seems like it would be difficult to fit something so floppy into another person's reproductive tract."

Stephen couldn't help chuckling, despite his exhaustion. "I keep it folded up when I'm not using it."

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift, listening to the soft click of At-ye's claws on the hard floor as ze puttered about. Eventually, his roommate turned off the lights and climbed into bed, settling against Stephen's side. Ze was warm and soft and didn't take up too much space—basically, the perfect sleeping partner. He missed the cloak, had gotten used to having it with him all the time, but Wong insisted he leave it behind when he came here. At-ye was a good substitute.

But tonight ze was twitchy and restless, claws and sharp elbows poking into Stephen's side.

He glanced over. At-ye's eyes were wide open, shining faintly gold in the dark. He knew the alien was nocturnal, but ze hadn't had trouble sleeping at night before. This was new.

"Is something bothering you?"

Ze shifted uncomfortably before saying, "I'm anxious. About tomorrow."

Right. Tomorrow—the day they would be expected to start fucking each other. "Oh."

"Are you not anxious?" 

Stephen thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, I'm anxious." That was probably an understatement.

At-ye reached over and began carding through Stephen's hair with fast little fingers. Stephen didn't mind. He knew it was a cultural thing—the grooming behavior. For At-ye it seemed like a nervous habit. Something ze did for comfort.

"But you must have sexual relations all the time. This won't be new for you, like it is for me. Why are you anxious?"

He smiled to himself in the dark. "The context is different. I'm used to having sex with people I... feel close to. People whose company I enjoy. Or I have sex because I want to. Not because I have to. So this is new for me, too. I don't really know anyone here, not yet. And it makes me nervous... knowing it's going to happen. Usually, you don't really know for sure when you're going to have sex, even if you want to. It's something that just happens..." He realized he'd started rambling and stopped himself.

"Also, they're not the same species as you. How do you know if your reproductive organs will be compatible?"

Stephen yawned. "Yeah... that too."

"I don't think I can do this," At-ye whispered. "But if I fail, I will not become a Master. "

Stephen stayed quiet.

"I've worked so hard to get here. Given up everything I had—all those years I went to school to be a doctor, my home, my comfortable life. To fail now would be unthinkable. My children would be so disappointed. They already think I'm crazy to give up my career for this. But they are not like me. They're sensible, practical. One is a shuttle pilot, and the other is a farmer. Sometimes I wonder how I could have produced them... Do you have children?"

"No."

At-ye made a low purring sound. "You're lucky, then. I love them, of course. They are everything to me. But— _by the Seers!_ —they can be irritating."

Ze was silent for a long time.

"I just want to help people. That's all. I want to craft spells that will help people overcome emotional trauma. I have the runes all worked out. The theory is solid... I don't know anything about cosmic entities or moon zeniths or—or... all of this _shit_. I didn't know I'd be required to do something so... _disgusting_." Ze shuddered. "No offense..."

"None taken."

"This is a test. I can see that now. A cruel test. My masters are clever. They know more about my weaknesses than I do. I just don't know how I can pass it."

Stephen sighed. How often had he thought the same thing? "This is a test for me, too, I think. I'm just not sure yet what I'm supposed to learn."

At-ye was silent for a while, grooming him. Stephen let the alien push his head gently back and forth so ze could reach better. He knew he would have weird hair tomorrow, but he didn't care.

He'd just started to drift off when ze suddenly said, "That demon. The big red one—I forgot his name..."

"Grafka," Stephen mumbled.

"That _vomit_ ," At-ye spat. "He threatened to step on me the first time we met."

Stephen chuckled. "Yeah, he's kind of a dick."

"He was staring at you today when you weren't looking. I didn't like it."

"He's harmless. I know his type—he feels inadequate somehow and he's overcompensating for it. I think he's just... lonely." Was he really making excuses for this asshole? Maybe he's become soft in his old age. "Don't let him bother you."

At-ye snorted. "Loneliness is not an excuse for aggression. He should seek professional help for his issue instead of taking it out on other people."

Stephen smiled. He tried to imagine a seven-foot tall, red-furred demon in therapy for anger management issues, but he really couldn't.

 

***

 

Stephen woke up before dawn, with his face pressed into soft fur. 

He lay still in the dark for a while, trying to clear his mind in the way that had become a habit, reciting spells and song lyrics until they blurred together. But he was too tense to go back to sleep.

Eventually, he gave in and slipped out of bed, careful not to wake At-ye. He stumbled out of their rooms onto the wide, white-sand beach at their doorstep. Alien stars hung low and too bright in the dark canopy of space, perilously close to the sharp curve of the horizon. The soft sound of the waves rolling in was like the breathing of some huge creature.

There was no one else out, and it wasn't cold, so he stripped off his clothes and walked out into the water, sinking down under the waves and letting the dark water close over his head. He came up for air and shook the water from his hair, watching as bioluminescent organisms flashed blue and faded out on the surface. He swam for a while on his back, looking up at the stars. When he got tired of that, he scrubbed at his body under the water, washing away the grime and dirt he couldn't clean off in their little sink. And when his toes and fingers started to go numb, he came out.

He sat in the sand and shivered, staring out across the water. The first pink light of dawn was just creeping up along the edges of the horizon, the sky fading from black into a deep blue. He watched as a ship took off from the nearby city and moved silently across the sky, the blinking lights along its outline the only hints of its massive size. The honeycomb grid of a wormhole opened in the sky and the ship disappeared.

He felt so alone. Tenuous. Like gravity could just suddenly decide to quit working and he would just slip off this tiny world and fly out into all of that blackness. 

He thought of At-ye and zir sharp mind and clever spells. He couldn't let his friend fail, but he didn't know how to help. 

 

***

 

By mid-morning the heat outside was stifling, and the sorcerers retreated to one of the underground caves to complete their work.

Stephen was already irritable.

The fasting they were required to do today meant no coffee this morning—something he considered an essential item to bring on any trip—and he could feel the beginning of a pounding headache coming on. He and At-ye had both been grumpy and sleep-deprived in the morning, and they'd snapped at each other as they tried to maneuver around their small rooms, getting ready. Stephen had tripped over some books that the alien had stacked in the doorway and At-ye complained that he took up too much space. They'd both apologized to each other before leaving for the day, but Stephen still felt bad about it. The stress of everything was taking its toll on them.

Now they were all taking turns inscribing the spells they would need for tonight on each other's bodies in a sort of partner-swapping dance. The whole process reminded Stephen uncomfortably of speed-dating. Meet, cast some spells, exchange pleasantries, move on to the next person. At least the work was easy—just drawing the same runes in the same spot over and over again—and Stephen was doing a confident, if uninspired, job.

He'd just finished bowing to his latest partner—a tiny, humanoid alien with huge green eyes—when Grafka stomped over and took his place in front of Stephen.

The big demon bowed low, overly formal, and Stephen returned it. He caught sight of At-ye out of the corner of his eye, staring at them. The little alien bared his teeth. Stephen smirked and shook his head slightly.

"Shall I go first then, human?" The demon had settled himself on the pillows. Stephen sat down across from him. The bowl of ink looked tiny in Grafka's huge hands. He gestured at Stephen. "Your neck."

"Sure. I'm ready." 

Stephen scooted closer and leaned forward. Grafka curled his fingers around the back of his neck, surprisingly gentle. The blunt tip of a claw moved quickly, light and ticklish, drawing the lines of the runes. The ink was cool as it dried. He flinched involuntarily when sharp claws pricked his skin.

"Hold still, human. I am almost done."

Grafka set the ink pot down. He tilted Stephen's head to the side to inspect his work, nodding to himself. When he finally let go, he trailed the pads of his fingers slowly over Stephen's neck.

No mistaking the intent there. Stephen narrowed his eyes at the creature across from him. 

A few low words from the demon, and Stephen braced himself against the hot flash and sting as the spell sank into his skin. At least that part was over.

"My turn." He picked up the ink pot and examined the body in front of him. Stephen's designated area was the upper left forearm. Luckily, that was easy to identify in this case—the demon was shaped roughly like a human. An earlier partner had been some kind of sentient blob. _That_ had been a challenge... He dipped a finger in the ink and reached across to draw the first rune.

"Wait." A large hand grabbed his wrist. The demon turned Stephen's hand over, inspecting it. "Why does your hand shake so much? Have you been damaged?" He ran his thumb softly across the scars on the back. "You are damaged. And I doubt that you are capable of this task."

Stephen jerked his hand away. He'd drawn at least ten of these spells already today. Yes, his hands shook, but the runes were absolutely correct. The spell would work.

He had nothing to prove to this asshole, though, so he just shrugged. "If you would prefer someone else, that's fine with me."

The demon considered him for a long moment. "No." He waved a hand, dismissively. "Continue, human." 

Stephen rolled his eyes and reached across to draw the runes. A few careful strokes later, and he was done. Looked good, he thought. He muttered the incantation under his breath and the lines flashed and faded. Perfect.

Grafka examined his arm carefully, then nodded his approval at the work. "An acceptable job."

They both stood.

Grafka bowed again, ostentatiously, and said, "I find you very attractive. Your eyes in particular are a very pleasing color. I look forward to spending time with you later tonight."

This guy wasn't very subtle. And Stephen didn't have a good response to being propositioned by a demon, so he retreated to formality, too, and bowed low, tried to keep his voice neutral. "I'm flattered," he said.

He was definitely _not_ looking forward to tonight. 

 

***

 

A few more rounds of speed-dating, a few more rounds of drawing on odd bodies, and then At-ye flopped down onto the pillow in front of him.

"Hello, friend," ze said. The little alien seemed to be in a better mood at least, more relaxed. Stephen knew ze was in zir element here—spell design was his roommate's specialty. "Would you like to draw on me first?"

"Sure. Upper-left forearm, part of a binding spell."

At-ye scooted closer and gestured at the topmost of zir two arms. "This one is upper, I think."

Stephen nodded. He didn't bother with the ink—it wouldn't stick to At-ye's fur anyway. The gestures to make the lines were what mattered, and he could draw them with his eyes closed. When he was finished he activated the spell. At-ye squeaked at the heat and rubbed at zir arm. 

"Excellent work. Now it's your turn. I'm doing protection wards. Middle of the torso."

Made sense, Stephen thought. Didn't want anyone to be injured in some horrible sex accident.

"Be my guest." He pulled his robe open and scowled down at his front—he looked like he'd been the victim of a finger-painting attack.

At-ye hopped forward and yanked the robe open to get a better look. The alien hummed and clicked as ze examined the other symbols on Stephen's skin, muttered, "someone was sloppy," and finally settled on an empty space just over his stomach. Ze dipped four fingers in the ink and got to work, nimble hands flashing over Stephen's skin.

"So..." Stephen started, trying to keep still despite the intense tickling he had to endure. "Did you talk to the Sorcerer Supreme about your... issue?"

At-ye paused for a second to contemplate zir work. "I did talk to her. She wasn't very helpful, though." A few more quick strokes. "She said I should trust my instincts because they will never fail me." Ze snorted. "What does that even mean?"

"I'm not sure."  

At-ye hummed, thinking. "All of these old ones speak in riddles. I wish they would just tell me what to do. Tell me if I'm not meant to be a Sorcerer. Then I wouldn't have to wonder about my future. I would know."

Stephen grunted in agreement.

They sat quietly while At-ye worked, adding a few flourishes and then leaning back to check the ward. Complicated spell, Stephen thought. Finally, the alien declared it finished and set the ink pot down.

"Watch out," ze said. "This one hurts."

At-ye spoke the incantation in zir own language—little hisses, purrs, and clicks—then clapped all four hands once. The lines flashed and Stephen hissed at the burn. _Fuck_ , that did hurt. The pain faded quickly, though, leaving just a numb tingling behind.

"That is a fine spell," At-ye said, smugly, admiring zir handiwork.

Stephen traced the marks on his stomach. He knew this sort of magic worked by manipulating probabilities. Every potential action had a certain inherent risk. Dangerous acts had a higher probability of something going wrong. If the protection ward was cast correctly, it would simply reduce that risk to zero. So you could do something dangerous—like take part in an inter-species orgy, for example—and not suffer the consequences. They weren't really his area of expertise, but this one looked correct.

He nodded at his roommate. "Thanks." Just having those precise and confidently drawn lines on his skin made him feel a little better about what was to come.

 

***

 

The rules of conduct for the orgy—Stephen couldn't help thinking about it like that, though he supposed it was technically a ritual—were relatively simple.

The Sorcerer Supreme explained them in excruciating detail in a speech that lasted well over an hour. Though Stephen felt they could be distilled down to just a few crucial points. First, everyone was supposed to switch partners often, make as many bonds as you could. No exclusivity allowed. Second, if anyone said stop at any time, you should stop. Finally—and a little contradictory, Stephen thought—you could say no to anything (or anyone) you didn't want to do, but it was considered impolite.

That last one still didn't make much sense.

He glanced around the room, but everyone else seemed perfectly at ease with the proceedings. Stephen supposed that for most of them this was just like any other ritual. Nothing to get excited about. Maybe even a chance to let loose and have a little fun, like an open bar situation at a medical conference.

They were in one of the larger caves. The space was kept dim for the ritual—maybe in deference to those who liked to mate in the dark, he wasn't exactly sure—the only light coming from a few torches set here and there along the walls. Definitely added to the atmosphere... Blankets and large floor-pillows had been scattered around haphazardly. There was even a small pool set into the floor that he presumed was for those who needed to spawn in water. The whole thing was surreal—just knowing he was expected to have sex with the same people he'd spent the last few days avoiding.

Stephen was already light-headed. He attributed part of that to nerves and the rest to the fasting he had done. He felt like he wanted to jump out of his skin. Literally. _God_ , he wished he could just enter the astral dimension and leave his body behind. They could do whatever they wanted with it. But, unfortunately, it didn't work that way—the spirit needed to be present in order to power the magic.

He craned his neck trying to catch a glimpse of At-ye among the other bodies, but there was no sign of his roommate nearby and it was too dark to see very far. He'd last seen zir in their rooms, reading, as he'd dressed himself quickly in an old t-shirt and some scrub pants, figuring they would be less of a loss than his robes. No underwear because he suspected he wouldn't need them for very long and he was running out of clean pairs. Another quick glance around the room confirmed that he was one of the few still wearing clothes. 

Grafka caught his eye and gave him a solemn nod. Stephen ignored him.

A quick gesture from the Sorcerer Supreme, and the various aliens and demons surged forward into the middle of the room, trilling, clicking, hissing, laughing, embracing. He could already feel the build up of magic all around him, like an electric charge in the air.

Stephen hung back. He noticed that a few of the others did, too. 

He ran a shaking hand over his beard, paced along the wall. He couldn't really see what was happening out there, though he could use his imagination. He supposed he should just grow a fucking spine and join them. See what happened. It was only sex. But he hesitated. _God_ , he really didn't want to do this. 

He considered slipping out, joining At-ye back in their rooms. They could be failures together. 

Someone tall sidled up to him in the dark. Stephen jumped when he realized it was the Sorcerer Supreme beside him.

He bowed to her awkwardly and she clicked at him, laughing. "No need to be so formal tonight. Of all nights..." She turned to stare out into the dark for a while, watching the bodies already writhing on the floor.

Stephen noticed that she didn't have any spells marked on her exoskeleton and she was still wearing her robes. "Are you not, uh, participating?"

She clicked again. "Oh, no. I am far too old for this sort of thing." She turned back and looked him up and down, leaned forward to brush her antennae over his head. The firelight glinted off of her many-faceted eyes as she regarded him. "You, however, are not."

"Yes, sorry, I'm just..." He gestured at the room. "I just need a minute." _Shit_ , he was going to disgrace his entire planet if he couldn't get over himself...

She nodded at him in understanding and made a quick slash with a forearm. Magic sparked and faded. "Here." She handed him a small cup filled with some kind of greenish liquid. "Drink this."

"Thank you." He sniffed at it—nothing. When he tipped the cup the liquid moved sluggishly, like syrup. "Uh...what is it?"

"Medicine."

She must have been able to read the doubt on his face because she added, "It will loosen the connection between your mind and your body."

Stephen thought that sounded really fucking dangerous. 

She waved a dismissive hand at him. "Quite a few here tonight have already used it. It is perfectly safe. And there is no shame in requiring a little help—this is a difficult task for many good Sorcerers."

Stephen stared down at the cup. Why the hell not? He hesitated for just a few more seconds before shrugging and gulping it down. He was already well protected by magic, and either way, he knew he was going to do this. Might as well make it as easy as possible. 

A wave of dizziness hit him and he staggered, clutching at his head. The Sorcerer Supreme grabbed him before he could fall over.

The touch of her claws against his skin was shockingly erotic. Stephen gasped and pressed closer. He didn't even mind the sharp spines on her carapace digging into his side—he couldn't seem to stop himself. "Sorry," he mumbled.

 _Oh god_ , now he was going to disgrace his entire planet in different way...

She clicked merrily, laughing at him, and gestured to someone he couldn't see. "Not tonight, young one. Though, sometimes I do wish I could be new and freshly-molted again... Here, Ektoppe will help you. Ze is a very gentle lover. Ze will take care of you." And she gave him a push out into the dark.

He stumbled forward and was immediately caught by someone. Someone who wrapped strong tentacles around him. Ektoppe, apparently...

"Hello. Do you need help?"

The buzzing voice in his head was soothing, even as the tentacles slid under his clothes, exploring him. He was already incredibly turned on just from that touch alone. He wrapped his arms around the vague shape that was pressed against him—soft and warm—sagged against it, let the tentacles hold him up.

Everything seemed to be happening too quickly and too slowly at the same time. Whatever that drink had been, it was strong. "I just... I don't know what I'm doing." He was so dizzy. He realized dully that he was rutting against the alien, like his body was on autopilot.

"That is okay. I know exactly what I am doing." 

Ektoppe lifted him up like he weighed nothing. Stephen grabbed at zir reflexively as they tipped over, but the alien just settled him gently on the ground.

"You will not need these." Dexterous tentacles slipped his pants down and off his legs. 

Stephen moaned as those same tentacles moved back up to curl around his cock, sliding sinuously up and down. He was utterly overwhelmed with sensation. His skin felt so odd. He was burning up.

"Oh. You are male. Would you like to penetrate me?"

He didn't think he could speak. He nodded, then realized that wouldn't be enough for the translation spell. "Y—yes," he managed.

The alien shifted on top of him and then the tentacles were guiding him into something warm and wet and tight. And suddenly he was fucking an alien, pushing up into his partner. It felt incredible. The spell lines on his arms were glowing faintly in the dark—the warmth on his skin like a sunburn.

Tentacles wrapped around his hips, encouraged him to thrust harder. "Oh, that feels very good. May I penetrate you?"

Stephen's mouth was saying, "yes," before his brain could catch up. He wasn't afraid, though. He didn't care what happened to him anymore as long as someone was touching him.

A slick tentacle slid up his inner thigh and then pushed inside him. It hurt going in and he gasped and pressed his face against Ektoppe's soft skin. 

"You are okay." Soft tentacles petted his back and thighs, reassuring him.

In the next instant, the pain was gone, even as the tentacle continued to work its way inside him. A tingling numbness was spreading through him. Pleasure throbbed through his body, slow and deep, in time with his pulse.

Ektoppe gave him a little nudge. "You should keep doing that, please. I like it."

Everything felt so good, he'd forgotten what he was supposed to be doing. He began moving again, thrusting languidly up, letting the tentacles do most of the work for him. He was already so close that it didn't take long. He came hard, almost before he was even aware it was happening, arching up into the alien, muscles contracting around the tentacle in his ass. The heat of the binding spell took him by surprise and he choked back a cry, gritting his teeth. 

Ektoppe petted him gently until he'd calmed down. He lay boneless on the floor, watching as the runes on their skin slowly faded.

The alien began to move against him again—the tentacle inside him shifted. "I am very close to completion. May I ejaculate inside you?"

"Yes."  

The tentacle pushed and pulled slowly inside, every movement sending gentle waves of pleasure through him. The alien's skin shivered and twitched above him, smooth ripples moving just under the surface. He was totally relaxed, but suddenly on the edge of arousal again. 

The tentacle pushed harder, stretching him out. "Oh, that's—that... _god_." He was hard and leaking again. That was fast... He reached down and wrapped a hand around his length, stroked slowly.

Ektoppe shuddered above him, purring softly. The tentacle pulsed inside him and something hot and liquid filled him up. It seemed to shoot straight to the pleasure center of his brain, like the best kind of drug. He gasped and came, ejaculating across his belly, head spinning.

He was happy to just lie on the ground, still in a state of euphoria, while Ektoppe carefully withdrew and cleaned him up. His fear from before seemed like a distant memory. He couldn't imagine why he'd ever been nervous. Or why he should care about anything at all except getting off. It was a pleasant feeling—reminded him disturbingly of being high on morphine. 

The alien gave him one more gentle squeeze and moved on. 

He wasn't alone for long. Clawed limbs pulled him over onto his side. Something hard and spiked pressed against his back—someone's chest, he assumed. He lifted his head to look over his shoulder, dropped it back down when everything started spinning wildly. One of the locals. A Calexan—insect-like, tall and thin, chitin gleaming blue-green in the dim light. Male or female... Stephen couldn't remember how to tell the difference.

The creature behind him wrapped hard limbs around him, said, "Stay still."

He didn't have a chance to react before something thin and smooth slipped inside him. Very thin, apparently—after the initial penetration he could barely feel it at all. But the alien behind him was moving in little jerks, sharp spines bumping against his back.

There was an odd warmth on his skin. He looked down to find the protection ward on his stomach glowing faintly. Doing its job, he realized. At least it seemed to be working—he felt no pain. Felt almost nothing, actually. Even so, he took the creature's warning to heart and did his best to stay still as it twitched behind him. He really didn't want to end up with a perforated bowel.

Eventually, the alien made a soft buzzing sound and tensed, grabbing him tightly and crushing him against the spines. His protection ward flared hot for a second and then dimmed. The binding spell flashed a few seconds later, leaving him shivering in the aftermath of magic.

"Sorry about that," the alien said, and Stephen could feel it shifting away, pulling out whatever had been inside him. It took so long, he was almost afraid to look. The alien gave him a pat on his hip and slipped away into the dark.

Interesting—he hadn't come, but the bond had formed anyway. Apparently only one partner needed to get off to activate the spell. He would have to think about that. Later, when he could actually think...

He thought about getting up, but he was still too relaxed to move, and too dizzy to stand. Bodies moved and shifted around him. He was bizarrely okay with it all, connected to everyone here, a part of something bigger than himself. He was even tempted to reach out and grab someone—didn't matter who—and satisfy the desire simmering in him again.

Soon someone else—an alien who looked a little like a bear, but with a long snout and only one eye—was there to take the Calexan's place, rolling him roughly onto his back.

When he flopped over, he bumped up against the person next to him—a pink-skinned woman he met on their first day here. They had started talking because they were both humanoid. Now he couldn't remember her name, or anything about her at all.

She smiled at him languidly and murmured, "Hello, Terran." Then she pulled his face towards her own, kissed him deeply. 

He was so distracted by the kiss, he barely noticed the alien was pushing his legs apart and settling between them. He gasped against the pink-skinned woman's mouth as something warm and slippery pushed into him. 

 _Fuck_ , this thing was big. Stephen moaned as he was stretched out, and the woman laughed wickedly into his mouth. The alien set up a fast pace, furred hips snapping against the back of Stephen's thighs. Pleasure and heat built fast in his belly. The runes on his skin tingled and burned. 

" _Oh, fuck. Fuck_." Oh, he was close again already. Sooner than he would have thought possible. He panted against the pink-skinned woman's mouth, suddenly desperate for more air.

She broke their kiss to gaze down at the alien fucking him. "That is a nice show." She sat up next to Stephen and gave him a playful glance over her shoulder. Then she grabbed the bear alien by his furry face and kissed him, angling her face awkwardly under his snout.

The alien stopped thrusting, distracted by her attention. The two of them squirmed and writhed, practically on top of him. Stephen wasn't sure if he should do more, or if he was already involved enough—he didn't have much experience with orgy etiquette. He ran his hand up the woman's inner thigh until his fingers encountered wetness, pushed a finger inside. She moaned and rocked back onto him. At least that was familiar. Stephen added another finger and moved them slowly in and out, teasing her a little.

He was starting to lose track of what was happening, realized the alien had started fucking him again with long, smooth strokes. He was right on the edge. His skin was on fire. He was burning up. He let his hand fall away from the woman, too distracted to remember what he was doing. The alien pushed into him again, slow and deep, and Stephen groaned.

The woman giggled. She slid her hand down Stephen's body, wrapped her fingers around his leaking cock. "Here, lover, let me help you out." She stroked him with practiced ease.

He tried to thrust up into her hand, but the furry alien grabbed his hips to hold him still, slammed into him hard.

"Oh, _fuck_ , oh, god..." He was so close. He was going to—

The woman suddenly cinched her hand around the base of his cock. "Don't come. Not yet."

He groaned and tried to push up into her hand, but she held tight and leaned down, kissed him softly. She whispered in his ear, "Not yet. I need you hard."

The alien's thrusts became erratic. He pushed in hard one final time, nearly dislodging the woman's iron grip on Stephen's penis, and then stilled, making a bizarre high-pitched keening sound. Warmth flooded Stephen's insides and his skin stung from the heat of the bond. Exhaustion pulled at him, but he was still desperate to come. 

As soon as the alien pulled out and stumbled away, the woman straddled him and sank down onto his cock. Stephen groaned with relief.

"Oh, that feels nice," she sighed. She rocked on top of him, slowly at first. But soon they were moving desperately together, pulling at each other as they raced toward completion. She came first, clenching and grabbing at her own hair, crying out above him. He followed just a few seconds later, pulled along by the sight and feel of her climax.

She lay on top of him, breathing hard against his neck. He could feel her heart thudding against his chest, slowing along with his own as they came down together. She pressed her lips to his neck in a quick kiss and sat up. Stephen noticed her protection ward was glowing just slightly. He reached up and ran his fingers over the lines on her skin, confused.

"Did I hurt you..?" He was pretty sure she was having fun, but maybe he'd been too rough.

She giggled and shook her head. "No, lover, you were perfect. But our two species are close enough that we could have made a child. I don't want to be a mother right now." 

"Huh." He hadn't really considered that issue. Made him appreciate At-ye's spell casting abilities even more.

She gave him one more kiss and bid him farewell, and then she was being pulled away by someone with tentacles, giggling at some joke they'd shared that Stephen couldn't catch.

He lay still for a while. Closed his eyes and thought about sleeping—he felt oddly tired. But he was still so aroused. He moved his hand down to touch himself. _God_ , he was hard already. Wasn't that physiologically impossible?

"Hey, human. Come on. Get up." Someone pulled him up off the floor, leaned him up against something warm. A body, he thought.

The person behind him laughed, not unkindly. "Look at you. You must have had some of the old one's special medicine."

"I'm fine," he mumbled. He opened his eyes, tried to focus. He was confused, but he felt okay. Better than okay, actually. He wanted someone to touch him. He didn't care who or what it was. The hands roaming over his body felt good.

Fingers circled his cock and squeezed. He moaned, dropped his head back onto the shoulder behind him.

"You're ready for more. Aren't you, human?"

Must be a demon, he thought. They were the only ones who called him that. He tried to squint over his shoulder at the person holding him. He could just catch a glimpse of a pale, androgynous face, huge black eyes with no whites, pointed ears. Definitely a demon.

The hand was still working him, but it wasn't enough. He wanted it again, right now. "Yeah, I'm ready. Just fuck me. Whatever you want..." 

The demon laughed, then pulled his face to the side and kissed him, sharp teeth worrying at his lip but not hurting him. Stephen brought one hand up to run along the side of the demon's head. His mouth, his skin, were hot, compared to his own. His hair was so soft, like goose down. 

The demon broke the kiss to whisper, "Come on, human. Up on your knees for a second. That's it." 

He pressed up close against Stephen's back. A pair of hands—too hot against his skin—were guiding him, lifting his hips. "A little more. Right there. Perfect." A finger pressed into him, and then another. Stephen gasped at the sensation.

"Does that feel okay?"

"Yeah," he breathed.

The fingers inside him pulled a little, stretching him open. The sting made him draw a sharp breath. And then something else slid inside.

It was definitely not human—thick at the tip and then narrower? The shape was... _odd_. Still felt good, though. He was starting to think that anything might feel good right now. A wave of dizziness made him sag back against the person holding him up, who struggled to grab him. He slipped down farther onto the demon's lap and pleasure shot through him. The demon sucked in a sharp breath and held tight to his hips, stopping him.

"Can you take a little more?" he whispered.

"Yes... I—I think so."

The demon murmured, "good, that's good," and pulled him down slowly.

There was some resistance—the demon's penis wasn't smooth, but had some kind of texture, either bumps or ridges. Stephen could feel his body trying to accommodate the odd shape. But they were at a standstill. Stephen panted when the hands on his hips kept pulling. He could feel sweat cooling on his skin. "I... I don't know..." he stammered.

"You can do it, just go slow," the demon said. "It will fit. Relax."

Stephen took a deep shuddering breath and let it out, releasing some of the tension in his muscles. The demon's cock pressed harder for a moment, burning and stretching him, and then slipped inside. " _Oh, fuck_ ," he breathed. It still felt good, but he was so full. He relaxed into the demon's strong grip, trying to get used to the strange shape inside him.

"You did it. You took all of it." His voice was low and dark with lust. He moved his hips in little shoves, pulling out only a bit, before pushing back in. Stephen thought that was probably wise—they seemed to be mostly stuck together.  

He wondered—not for the first time—why he'd spent so much time so far tonight being fucked instead of doing the fucking. He enjoyed both generally...

The demon murmured, "It's the medicine you drank. It just takes some people like that. Don't let it bother you."

Stephen wondered if he'd accidentally said any of that out loud or if—

"Yes, I can hear your thoughts."

Stephen scrambled to put up his mental shields, more out of habit than anything, but nothing happened. The familiar feeling of being closed-off and muffled didn't come.

"Can't do it tonight, human," the demon panted. "I can't either. Need to be open for the binding spell to work. You know that..." He rocked up into Stephen. "Don't worry"—he pulled out as far as he could, and then slid back in, harder this time. They both groaned—"I'll try not to... go too deep." The demon chuckled breathlessly at his own joke.

They fucked quietly for a while. Stephen could feel the demon behind him sweating, his body tensing and relaxing as he worked, but he didn't seem to be in a hurry to come. The sounds he made were soft—small grunts and moans, murmured words of encouragement, some in a language Stephen's translation spell didn't recognize. People came and went around them. Hands reached out to caress or fondle. Some rough and some gentle. Mouths pressed against his own. Stephen couldn't tell where they were coming from or who they were attached to—everything was blurring into one pure wave of sensation.

Gradually, their movements became more urgent. The demon pushed him forward, helping him down to his hands and knees. They were still stuck together—careful not to pull too hard on the delicate parts where they were joined. The demon began moving faster, rocking Stephen forward in a steady rhythm. All of those ridges and bumps were rubbing inside of him, over and over again, making him ache and leak.

He hated to beg, but he was desperate. "I need to... _Please_ , I need more, just touch me."

The demon leaned over him, kissed him tenderly between the shoulder blades. "I can feel what you feel. And you will feel what I feel. Just be patient."

The demon continued to take his time—speeding up until Stephen was begging and then slowing down when he got too close, pushing him to the edge over and over again until he was panting and desperate for release.

The demon suddenly leaned close to his ear and murmured, "You're thinking about someone. Someone you want to be with. Maybe like this..."  

Stephen shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut. Don't think about him... Just stop. But trying hard to _not_  think about someone was exactly the wrong thing to do. He felt exposed and vulnerable. Too open.

" _Oh_. I can see why—he's gorgeous!"

He tried desperately to clear his mind, but he was too scattered to concentrate.

"But you're not with him. No, you miss him..."

"Stop it." 

"Sorry," the demon muttered. "It's a bad habit. Forgive me." He actually sounded contrite.

"Just shut up and fuck me." 

The demon laughed. "Oh, I like you, human." He pulled Stephen back up onto his lap, wrapped strong arms around him and rolled his hips. "That feels amazing," he moaned. "I could fuck you forever." They rocked together, bodies straining and tense.

Someone stumbled over to them and droppped down in front of Stephen. The demon librarian—the one who'd been banished. She swayed forward and kissed him, closed-mouth, soft lips against his. He reached up and held her face.

Her pupils were dilated, eyes wide and dazed. Her hair had been pulled out of the braids she was wearing and tangled up in her horns. There were thin scratches and bruises on her arms and neck, just visible under the ink.

Despite eveything happening to him, he couldn't help being concerned. "Are you okay?"

She looked confused for a moment and then smiled at him, crookedly. "Yes. Are you?" And he realized he must look just as bad.

She glanced over his shoulder at the demon behind him, nodded, and then slithered to the ground in front of them. Stephen gasped and jumped when her fingers wrapped around his cock. She leaned forward and took him into her mouth. Tentative at first, then she whimpered and pushed down onto him.

" _Oh, god_ ," he breathed. The demon behind him groaned loudly and pushed up, shoving him further into the wet heat of her mouth. 

It was almost too much, too much happening to him at once—he was overwhelmed, surrounded, consumed. He was losing the edges of himself. Everything was blurring together. She bobbed her head down and sucked hard and his vision nearly whited out.

He reached down to stop her, but the demon caught his wrists in strong hands, pulled his arms away. "Let her," he whispered. " _Please_... that feels so good. Just let her."

Stephen let his head roll back on the demon's shoulder, breathing harshly. "I can't... I—I can't—oh, god. _Fuck_..." Someone was inside him, and he was inside someone, his mouth was on someone's cock, he was in someone's mouth... His nervous system couldn't keep track of so many contradictory sensations. He was balanced on a knife's edge of pleasure.

The demon's cock seemed to throb inside of him. He hissed and bit down hard on Stephen's shoulder, sharp teeth sinking into his flesh. Stephen couldn't feel any pain, just a wave of intense and wonderful release as he finally came, shuddering, into the woman's mouth. The flare of their binding was almost as white hot as his orgasm. The ebb of magic left him weak and dazed.

The demon rolled them gently onto their sides when he sagged, wrapped his body around Stephen's. The librarian slipped away into the dark.

The demon groaned softly behind him. "I'm never moving again."

Stephen chuckled weakly. He could sympathize—his body felt like he'd been hit by a truck.

The demon sighed. "One more thing... Just relax for a minute—I hate this part." He reached down between them. Stephen winced as the demon worked a finger into him alongside his cock. He was still too sensitive.

"Sorry," the demon murmured. "Those spines can catch on your skin if I'm not careful." He pressed gently, opening him up. "Let me know if I'm hurting you."

Stephen exhaled and tried to relax as the demon pulled out. It was a tight fit, but nothing hurt. And then it was over. He moved around to see how he felt. Sore, but pretty good.

Gentle fingers explored the edges of the wound on his shoulder. "I'm sorry about this, too. I have a healing spell that will work, but I'm too drained to use it now. Come see me tomorrow and I'll fix you."

It still didn't hurt much. He'd check it when he got back to his room. "It's fine—dont worry about it."

The demon gave him a squeeze. "Maybe I just want an excuse to see you again. It's against the rules to mate with someone twice. But, perhaps, tomorrow night... If we meet again... Maybe you can be on top."

Stephen smiled. He shifted a bit and the demon let go so he could roll over. Stephen lifted a shaky hand to brush the demon's hair from his face. He really was beautiful, like something from a fairy tale. His skin was so soft and pale, almost glowing. Stephen leaned forward and kissed him, brushing their lips together.

"I'd like that." He grinned. "Just stay out of my head next time."

The demon smiled back, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "I swear to it, human. And, perhaps, next time, you will think of me, instead of someone who makes you sad."

He rolled gracefully to his knees, leaned over for one more kiss. "Until tomorrow..." And then he staggered off, long tail whipping behind him, and disappeared into the crowd.

Stephen was happy to stay where he was, too exhausted to move from his spot on the floor. He thought he might sleep for a while.

He knew now that the lethargy was not just due to the drug he'd taken or the amount of sex he'd had—it was the strain of using too much magic. He was starting to recognize the signs. Before, he'd thought it was a kind of mental exhaustion, just the pressure from keeping his mind so focused on casting and working with magic. But tonight, he didn't have to focus at all, could be asleep, in fact. The spells were triggered automatically. The power still had to be drawn from somewhere, still had to pass through his body. And that, apparently, took some kind of unconscious effort.

He'd long since lost track of how many people he'd been with, how many bonds he'd made. He was left alone for a while and he closed his eyes, drifted away.

 

***

 

The heat of his protection ward woke him. And something else. Something inside him that hurt and felt good at the same time. He tried to move away from the feeling, but he was restrained. Something stopped him, holding him still. His arms were free, but his legs were tangled up in a mass of tentacles. Not the same as Ektoppe—these were wet and translucent, like the fronds of a jellyfish. 

Stephen remembered the alien from their spell-drawing session earlier. Zir tentacles were long, but zir body was small and soft. Small enough to fit between his legs. His feet, his legs, he realized, were in water. He was at the edge of the little pool. He must have been dragged over when he was unconscious.

The water was cold and he shivered. He tried to pull his legs away again. The tentacles tightened around him and the alien's body pulsed and flashed.

"Please be calm. I am almost finished."

The pleasure/pain feeling intensified and he moaned. He couldn't figure out what was happening. Something was definitely inside him, he just... couldn't tell where. Or what. He tried to relax. The protection ward was working, he reasoned, so the pain he was feeling must not be dangerous. 

The burning grew sharper suddenly and he tried to jerk away. "That hurts," he muttered. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

"It will feel good soon. I promise. Please relax." 

He tried. When it wasn't hurting, it felt almost like an intense itching—that was the only way he could think to describe it. Or a vibration deep inside of him that never stopped. For the first time tonight, it was almost too much. He considered telling the alien to stop, but he forced himself to endure a little bit more.

The feeling sharpened again, and he whimpered, but this time pleasure overwhelmed the pain. His muscles all tensed at once, and he tried to draw his legs up, but couldn't. He was suddenly too hot, despite the cool water around him.

" _Fuck!_ " He orgasmed suddenly, shockingly.

Their runes flashed and faded, but the feeling didn't stop. The pain and pleasure built inside him to another unbearable peak and his tired muscles tensed. Before he could even register what was happening, he was coming again. The pleasure was tinged with pain that burned through him. It left him cold and shivering when it passed.

He was so tired. The tingling itch inside him began again and he sobbed. "Stop, please stop."

"I want to finish. No one here will let me finish with them. Please let me finish. I will not damage you. I promise you are safe."

Stephen groaned. "Okay. Yes, finish." He had no idea why he was agreeing to this. He wasn't sure if he was actually capable of saying 'no' anymore. Or maybe he felt sorry for this weird alien who couldn't get off with another person. Possibly, he was too tired and wasted to make decisions...

The next time, when it happened, wasn't so bad. He lay still and panted through it, stunned by the rush of pleasure through his body.

Someone came to him then, as he lay there in a daze, leaned over him and pulled him into a gentle kiss, wiped the tears from his face. He kept his eyes shut—he was too tired to open them. He wondered when this would be over.

The feeling inside him was maddening—his body was being pulled apart, torn between pleasure and pain. He whimpered pathetically, couldn't seem to stop.

The person murmured, "Hush. You're fine, you're fine. My roommate won't hurt you." He couldn't tell who or what they were, or what language they were speaking. 

The burning grew stronger again and he stopped thinking at all.

Hands with strange, long fingers pushed his head to the side. Soft lips pressed against his neck and then something sharp stabbed his skin. He jerked and shook his head, trying to pull away, but the person held on tight. The voice said, "I just need to do this, to make our bond." Hands pressed him down and the stabbing was back—sharp at first then fading to a dull sting. The fingers grew gentle when he stopped resisting.

Pleasure and pain built until he was gasping for breath. Everything else was eclipsed by the shock of his climax, the flash and pull of the binding spell. He might have lost consciousness for a few moments.

And then it was over. The relief he felt was far sweeter than any orgasm. The tentacles slowly unwound, releasing his legs, leaving sharp pinpricks behind that faded into numbness. Someone was talking to him, saying something that he couldn't understand. Water lapped gently at his feet. He didn't care. He curled up on his side and shivered, tried to focus.

The voice was saying, "Thank you, thank you..."

  

***

 

He lay for a while beside the pool, cold, but too wrecked to move. He might have fallen asleep again. The next thing he was aware of was someone petting his head gently.

A voice buzzed and clicked above him. "You are shivering and your body temperature is too low for your species. You should get out of this water. Here. Let me help you."

Segmented hands lifted him up and he was cradled against a hard body. He was put down somewhere warm and soft. The person who carried him settled behind him, wrapped chitinous arms around him. Another bug-person, he thought. He didn't mind—at least they radiated heat. His neck hurt and his muscles ached, but he was already feeling better as his body started to warm.

A hand settled on his hip, deliberate. "Do you mind if I..? Most here do not wish to partner with me. They find our methods of procreation... distasteful. I have made very few bonds tonight." Antennae dipped down to run softly over his body. "But you taste like you have already allowed others of my kind to bond with you. Perhaps..?"

"S' fine," he managed to mumble.

"Thank you. Now, please stay still for just a few moments..."

He was so tired, it was easy to relax and lay motionless as the body behind him shifted around. One hand came down to move his leg forward and then that long, thin rod was carefully pushed inside him. It slid in painlessly. The warmth of the protection ward flashing to life felt almost good against his cold skin.

The alien behind him began to buzz softly, moving the thing deeper into him with little jerks, then pulling back slightly, before pressing forward again.

"Almost there. Oh, that feels nice. You are so warm inside." A rough hand petted at his flank. 

Finally, the alien stilled, but nothing else happened. His runes were still barely glowing. Stephen waited.

"You may move again a little, if you like. It is safe now." There was another short pause. "Do you mind if I hold you for a little while?" The words were hesitant, almost shy.

He shifted his legs slightly, just to see what would happen. He could feel the thing pressing against his skin where it entered him, but nothing else. He felt pretty good, and he wasn't cold anymore. His mind was, perhaps, a little clearer. Maybe that drink was finally wearing off.

"I don't mind," he said.

The alien buzzed happily and enfolded him in strong arms. They lay together in the dark as couples and trios mated around them.

In spite of his exhaustion, Stephen was curious. And this one seemed more talkative than the others he'd met. "Can I ask...? Are you male or female?"

A quick laugh. "Female, of course. Our males are tiny and not sentient."

Interesting. "Huh. So this... thing inside me is... what exactly?"

"My ovipositor. Normally, we lay our eggs in non-sentient creatures. Livestock. When the eggs hatch, the larvae feed on the creature's internal organs. The larvae emerge only when the host has been consumed."

 _Fuck_ , he shouldn't have asked. "Uh, that's, hmm..."—he wanted to say 'very disturbing'—"interesting," he concluded.

Another clicking laugh. "Do not worry. These eggs are infertile. They will not harm you."

He still wanted to know more. It was hard to articulate his thoughts in his current state, but he tried anyway. "So this isn't sex. It's egg-laying." He was surprised that worked for the spell, but he supposed it was just a different kind of closeness.

"Does this"—he gestured down at their bodies—"feel good to you?"

She gave him a little squeeze. "Oh, yes. It is hard to describe... The feeling is very comfortable. Very good. Satisfying. Some of us lay infertile eggs in livestock to satisfy this urge. It is a popular pastime on my world. There is a large industry built around providing that service."

Livestock, he thought and shuddered.

"Some of us, though... We prefer a sentient partner." She spoke softly suddenly. "That is considered a... perversion in my culture. It is allowed tonight, of course. But I could be dismissed from my order if I sought such pleasures outside the scope of my work."

Stephen realized she was taking a risk, opening up to him. "I won't say anything."

"Thank you."

They lay in comfortable silence for a while. 

"Would you like me to touch you?" Her hand moved down his stomach to brush lightly against his cock. "I do not mind. I would... I mean..." That soft voice again. "I would like you to climax while I lay my eggs. If you don't mind."

Her touch sent a shiver of arousal through him, but he was so tired... "I don't mind. I just don't know if I can... If I can do that right now."

"Perhaps we could try. And see what happens..." She reached over and pulled the edge of a nearby blanket over them. "I am not ashamed of what I am. But even tonight I have to be careful. In case one of the others is watching. Some are not as open-minded as our Sorcerer Supreme."

Her hand wrapped around him, surprisingly gentle. She moved her fingers experimentally up and down, so carefully. Stephen gasped. He hadn't thought he was still capable of getting an erection after his encounter with the alien in the water and the mysterious roommate. Apparently, the drink was still working...

"Like that?" She did it again, and he tried to thrust forward, before remembering he wasn't supposed to move.

It was quickly becoming hard to think again. "Uh, yeah, just... squeeze a little and, uh, move your hand up and down."

"Show me?" 

He moved his hand down to cover hers. The back of her hand was smooth and hard, dotted with small spines in little rows. He pressed her fingers—three, plus a thumb—around his length and guided her hand up and then back down. Her palm was warm like the rest of her exoskeleton and ridged. It felt completely alien, and rough on his sore skin, but still good.

Soon, they were moving together, and he was panting, getting close. His hand started to cramp and he had to let go, but she kept stroking him, urging him on.

"I—I'm going to..." he gasped. The lines on their skin were glowing, growing hotter.

"I can feel that," she said. "Stay still. Try to stay still." She shifted behind him, tensing. 

He tried not to move. He pushed his face down into the blanket and breathed hard through his nose, clenched around the thing in his ass.

" _Oh, shit_ ," he whispered. His orgasm was just on the edge of painful, and mostly dry—drawn out of him as if by force. But it was somehow still ecstasy. The edges of his vision went black for a second as their bond formed, and he realized he was finally reaching the limits of his magic.

"Oh! That feels good. That is good... Hold still, hold still."

She gave him one last stroke—it was too much and he shuddered hard—then moved her hand to his hip. He was dimly aware of her body moving in little jerks behind him. The sound of her buzzing grew louder. Then she suddenly went rigid. Her hand tightened on him to the point of pain—he would definitely have a bruise there tomorrow. He would probably have a lot of bruises tomorrow...

Stephen lay boneless while she pulled the ovipositor out of him. 

"I can help you back to your rooms if you are tired."

"No, thank you. I think... I'm just going to stay here for a while."

 

***

 

When Stephen woke up again, still wrapped in his blanket, the night's activities were winding down.

He could feel the drug surging through him, making him slow and hazy and still wanting, but he'd had enough and he could think past it now.

He sat up carefully and then realized he was covered in slime. Someone must have come by while he was sleeping and done something to him, then covered him up again. Must not have been too exciting—whatever it was, it hadn't woken him up. He grimaced and tried wiping the slime off with his hand, but all that did was spread a sticky mess around everywhere.

"Well... _shit_." 

He gave up and worked at getting to his feet for a while. The room spun around sickeningly when he stood, but he didn't fall. A good sign, he thought.

He searched around on the floor, tripping over bodies still locked together and others who had apparently passed out, trying to find something to wear. By some miracle, he found a pair of pants—not his, but they almost fit and had the correct number of leg holes—and he slipped them on.

Finding the cave exit, however, was challenging in the dark. As he stumbled around blindly, he was caught and pulled down by a strong hand around his ankle. He wound up giving the alien a quick and easy blow job—the guy had a tiny dick—before sneaking away when he fell into a magic-induced stupor.

He finally found the exit and managed to stumble back to his rooms without hurting himself or getting lost. Or falling into the ocean.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to remember the incantation to open the door, and when he finally staggered inside and leaned against the wall, At-ye was there, staring at him. Stephen was reminded of all the times as a teenager, when he'd slunk in past his curfew to find his mother waiting up for him in the dark. The guilty feeling was the same.

"You look terrible," ze said. "What did they do to you?"

Stephen looked down at himself. He really did look bad—like someone at the end of a week-long bender who'd gotten into a fist fight. He shrugged.

At-ye wrinkled his nose. "And you smell. Like... a lot of different things."

Stephen winced as he lowered himself carefully down into a chair. "Yeah, well... Sorry." He didn't want to talk right now, didn't think he could manage to hold a conversation even if he wanted to. He closed his eyes and rested his head on his folded arms. The whole world spun around him.

 _God_ , he felt weird—sore and just beaten down. That drink he'd had, plus the magic—all of it was too much. And then all of that weird sex... His skin itched and burned where the spells had been drawn. His mind was stretched too thin. He wanted to sleep. And he wanted to get off again. He didn't even know how that was possible at this point.

He shifted in the chair and groaned. It hurt, but it felt good. He was hard again already, probably had been for a while. His hand had started creeping down, almost subconsciously, before he stopped himself, remembered where he was. Stephen jerked upright in his chair and opened his eyes.

At-ye was still staring at him. "You were about to touch your reproductive organ," ze said, accusingly. "Haven't you had enough sex?"

He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head. "Yes, but... I drank something to make it easier for me to... you know." He made a vague gesture. "It's still working, I think." He squinted hard at his roommate. "You weren't at the... gathering tonight..."

At-ye looked down at zir hands. Ze spoke quietly. "I couldn't do it, friend. I'm a coward. And I've failed. I will go back to my home world tomorrow and tell my teachers that I've failed them."

Stephen shook his head, which ended up being a mistake. "No, hold on... You haven't. You can't give up. There's a—"

They were interrupted by someone scratching at the door. At-ye jumped up in surprise and then rushed over to answer it.

Stephen groaned and thumped his head on the table. He already knew who it was.

Sure enough, Grafka strode into the room, while At-ye spit and huffed behind him. The demon's short fur was matted and streaked with unknown fluids and there were some scratches on his arms and chest. He must have come straight from the orgy. At least he was wearing pants.

The demon looked around, thoughtfully. "These rooms are far too small. I would not have settled for these pitiful accommodations."

At-ye snorted and glared. "Nobody asked for your opinion. What are you doing here?"

"I have unfinished business with the human. We did not get a chance to mate at the ritual tonight."

Stephen decided not to get up from the table to greet their guest. He didn't care if that was rude. "I'm tired. Can we do this tomorrow?"

"You made a promise to me that we would have sexual relations tonight." 

"Did I?" Stephen was pretty sure he'd done no such thing, but it was possible he'd said something that had been misinterpreted.

"Yes. I was too preoccupied earlier to get to you. I am very popular at these sorts of gatherings." 

At-ye snorted.

"And then you left the ritual early. However, I find that acceptable—I would prefer to have some privacy while we mate.

Stephen shut his eyes and groaned. He was too tired to argue right now. And it would probably be easier and faster to just let this asshole fuck him so they could get him out of here. Then he could finally sleep. "Fine," he sighed.

At-ye squeaked in protest.

Grafka stepped forward until he was standing behind Stephen and rested his hands on his shoulders, letting his fingers dig into the muscle. Stephen grunted and dropped his head back down. Oh, that felt good—just having someone else touch him again. That was what he needed right now.

At-ye's fur bristled. Ze stepped forward and hissed, "Do not touch him!"

The demon growled in response.

At-ye would probably get squished trying to defend his honor. He looked his roommate in the eye, tried his best to sound reassuring. "It's okay. Really, I'm fine. But you should leave us alone for a little while."

Grafka snorted. "Yes. This is not your business. Leave us alone."

He lifted Stephen's hips, pushed him up onto the table. Stephen let him. The cool metal felt good against his face. He was burning up inside—the familiar heat of a bond starting to form. The sigils on his skin had already begun to glow faintly.

He tried to focus while he was still reasonably coherent. His roommate was still staring at them, looking horrified. "At-ye, you should go. Really. You don't want to see this."

The demon chuckled, low and wicked. "I have changed my mind. Let the squirrel watch. Maybe it will learn something." He yanked Stephen's stolen pants down, claws rough against his skin. 

At-ye just stared, wide eyed, wringing all of zir little hands.

"Seriously, get out of here," Stephen said. He really didn't want his friend to watch him get fucked.

"No. I don't trust him. What if he hurts you?"

"He can't, remember. Your ward. I'll be fine."

Grafka made a low rumbling sound and ran his hand down Stephen's flank.

"What if I cast it incorrectly?"

"You didn't." He gasped as strong knees parted his thighs. "Now, please, just get—"

Grafka chose that moment to shove into him—too fast and too rough. Stephen winced. Despite how relaxed and well-used he already was, it was still a lot. Damn thing felt like it might have spines, too. Soft, flexible spines, but still... Clawed hands grabbed and pulled hard at his hips as the demon pushed deeper inside. Stephen wasn't sure how everything was going to fit, but his over-taxed body apparently registered it as pleasurable. He moaned helplessly as warmth spread through his pelvis.

At-ye rushed forward and climbed onto the table. For a moment Stephen was sure ze was going to attack the demon. But then At-ye grabbed his hand, entwining their fingers as much as ze was able.

Stephen blinked at their joined hands. "What are you doing?" he breathed. 

At-ye seemed just as confused. "I—I don't know... It just felt right. I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"Wait... Look. Your arm."

There was the faintest shimmer of magic across the dark fur. Oh! Of course! How had he not seen it before? 

"Groom me," Stephen said.

The little alien was staring at zir arm. "What..?"

"Trust me—it'll work. Just groom me." He grabbed At-ye's hand and pulled it to his head. Lithe fingers reflexively pushed into his hair.

At-ye squeaked in surprise, looking down at the brightly glowing runes on zir fur. "But this is not sex... How is this working?"

"Closeness... comfort," Stephen managed. _Fuck_ , he could hardly think. "Just keep doing that. Don't let go of me... until we're done."

This wasn't at all like being fucked by a human partner. The demon didn't thrust, or pull out and push back in—he just moved his hips in little jerks. Perhaps the spines made it impossible to do more. Stephen couldn't feel them exactly, but he did feel something. Too hot inside, and too open.

It all seemed to go on for a very long time. Until his insides felt raw and sore. The heat inside him had gradually turned into a burning ache.

Grafka's little shoves were getting faster, deeper. And the demon had started making a low, growling sound. Stephen could see the runes on the creature's skin glowing brightly. His and At-ye's were the same. He didn't think he would be able to come this time, but the binding spell would work.

Almost done, he thought, dazed. Then he could sleep.

He moaned in protest when the demon reached down to touch his cock—he was pretty damn sore there and he had no desire to ejaculate again. Ever. He tried to shove the hand off of him, but Grafka was an immovable object and he couldn't be stopped. So Stephen gave up and let the demon fondle him. 

If Grafka had been aggressive and obnoxious in every other way so far, he was unusually gentle in this. Those large fingers were soft—almost too soft—as they moved against him. Not stroking, just exploring. One hot fingertip slid up and pressed against the opening of his urethra. Stephen jerked at the sensation, but the finger just moved in small circles, teasing him. Then pressed harder.

Stephen gasped and slammed his hand on the table.

At-ye's fingers tightened in his hair. "Is he hurting you?"

"Nooo..." Not hurting, exactly. This was definitely the weirdest hand-job he'd ever had. It burned at first—the finger was moving faster and faster, rubbing against him. And then it got easier, sliding smoothly. He realized he must be leaking a lot. _Oh_ , he was going to come. His brain was still trying to catch up to what his body was doing.  

"Fuck, that's— _Fuck_." He tried to twist away, clawed at the smooth table.

At-ye's hands stilled. "You're in pain!" 

Grafka chuckled. "The human isn't in pain, little squirrel."

"No... I—I'm... _fuck_ , I..." Damn it—he couldn't talk.

His runes flared hot as he came hard, sobbing into the table. He could hear At-ye squeak in surprise, and zir hands pulled hard at his hair. But even that pain was quickly fading as the magic receded. 

He was slipping away fast, couldn't focus on anything. Darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision. Things were still happening—around him, _to_ him—but he was only vaguely aware of them. He knew that was probably the last bit of magic he had left.

The demon gave a few more quick shoves and then something seemed to swell sharp and hot inside him. It was enough to jolt him out of his stupor. "Ow, damn it!" He tried to look over his shoulder at Grafka. "What the fuck was that?"

"Do not try to move, human. We are locked together until my barbs retract."

"Great, perfect," he mumbled. The pain was gone, at least. He slumped back down against the table. This wasn't the weirdest thing that had happened to him tonight. And he was so tired. He might actually be able to sleep face down on a metal table with a demon's cock stuck inside him. 

He realized that At-ye was still grooming him—the gentle fingers on his scalp were making it very hard to keep his eyes open. 

Ze leaned down to whisper, "You've used too much magic tonight, friend. You can sleep if you want. I'll stay here to make sure he doesn't take advantage of you."

Stephen managed to snort against the table. "Little... too late... to worry about that, I think." _God_ , he was exhausted—completely and utterly wrecked. He really had used too much magic, done too much. He closed his eyes, knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to open them again.

He could hear Grafka and At-ye talking back and forth above him, but they suddenly sounded very, very far away, and then he couldn't hear anything at all.

 

***

 

When he drifted back to consciousness, he was sitting in a chair again, pants back on, face down on the table. At-ye was next to him, reading. Obviously, some time had passed.

Stephen blinked, wiped some drool from the corner of his mouth. He lifted his head—the room tilted, but it was an acceptable level of tilt—and looked around. No demon. "Did that really happen?"

"Oh, yes, my friend. I can't believe you slept through all of it! That demon really does have a very large reproductive organ. And it was quite interesting to watch him extract it. I was surprised it fit inside you. Yours is not nearly so impressive."

Stephen frowned. 

"And it took him forever to finish... _whatever_ he was doing to you. I had to make small talk with that vomit while we waited!"

At-ye huffed in disgust, as if small talk was worse than whatever degrading acts ze had just witnessed.

At least he'd missed that part, Stephen thought. The small talk and the... _finishing_.

At-ye wouldn't let him go back to sleep until ze'd forced Stephen to eat some of the weird dried fruit ze had hoarded in their room, muttering about the dangers of magic shock. Afterward, Stephen cleaned himself up as well as he could in their small sink—he would need to jump in the ocean again tomorrow. Then ze pulled Stephen down into their bed and wrapped long arms around him.

Stephen could feel the little alien practically buzzing with excitement. 

"You are brilliant, friend. Brilliant! This is excellent. I had thought for sure my career was over. But this..." Ze squeaked happily. "I will stay close to you tomorrow night during the ritual. You can carry me around. Yes, that would be easiest... But first, I will re-do some of these spells for you—some of them are shit. Not the ones you have done, but some of the others are amateurish. I can do much better. Yes, yes... the binding will work so much better if I fix the runes." Ze hummed and clicked to zirself.

Stephen yawned. He was happy for At-ye.

"You might have to have sexual relations with some of the same people again, so I can bond with them, too..."

He groaned. He was seriously considering celibacy as a viable life choice.

At-ye patted him sympathetically. "Not that big, ugly demon, though. We're done with that vomit. Thank the Seers of Saudhari!"

"Thank the Seers..." Stephen mumbled. He had no idea what that meant.

He was _not_ looking forward to tomorrow. But for now, he was content to just be here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed the adventures of Stephen and At-ye, thay have a little follow-up story here: [Parallel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12795828/chapters/29203752)


	6. Once in a Lifetime (Stephen/Nicodemus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen/Nic
> 
> Stephen has a crisis at work. Dr. West helps him out. Omegaverse, sort of...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: serious dubcon here (all the usual omegaverse issues), mild sexual harassment, sexual discrimination, attempted sexual assault
> 
> [Once in a Lifetime](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=5IsSpAOD6K8) by The Talking Heads

The problem with blindly jumping into an alternate version of yourself inhabiting a parallel universe, Stephen thinks, is that, sometimes, you ended up somewhere truly bizarre.

This place seems so normal at first. He jumps right into a version of himself performing brain surgery. No one around him in the OR seems to notice the tiny moment of hesitation as he assesses the situation—aneurysm repair, not complex, patient stable, good prognosis—and takes over. His hands are perfect, working with sure and steady precision as he finishes the surgery.

He knows right away that this isn't the right universe. That's one of the limitations of their plan—it's hard to pinpoint the exact place he needs to be. He tries a spell to contact Wong, but nothing happens. That's not unexpected—so many of these worlds have little or no magic to draw on. They've compensated for that by engineering a time limit into the dimensional spell. Twenty-four hours until the spell fades—long enough for him to figure out if this universe is the source of the original anomaly, but not too long to get into too much trouble.

He also doesn't want to fuck with the lives of his alternate selves too much. It wouldn't be fair to them. They're just ordinary men, for the most part, living their boring, ordinary lives, completely unaware of the existence of the multiverse, or their dimension-hopping double.

 

***

 

He notices the first hints of something odd when he's scrubbing out. 

There's a tattoo—old and slightly faded—on the back of his left hand. A symbol, Greek omega. He strips off his other glove and the same symbol is also on his right hand. _Odd_. He wonders what it means. He stares at himself in the mirror over the sink. No goatee, which isn't that odd. No gray at his temples, either. And his hands are perfect and unscarred. Everything else looks the same. He _feels_ like himself.

Stephen doesn't get a chance to wonder about the tattoo for long. A nurse peeks her head in and says he's needed in the ER for another consult—an MVA with head trauma. Easy, but it's thrilling to be in surgery again. And after that case, he's busy pretty much nonstop, falling into the familiar rhythm of the hospital, of patients and residents and paperwork. He finds it all exhilarating, actually. Even the simple cases he would have scoffed at before, are suddenly interesting.

Fitting in isn't too difficult. He just keeps his mouth shut, for the most part, except to give his medical opinion. He catches glimpses of people he knows, or might know. Christine keeps catching his eye and smiling, gives him a thumbs up from across the room. They must be friends here. This world is close enough to his own that no one notices he's not _their_ Stephen Strange, and he doesn't fuck anything up.

Whenever he has a few moments to himself, he tries to figure out what's different here. In some worlds, it's easy—the universe where everyone had a tail comes to mind (awkward), or the one where Loki was the Sorcerer Supreme (disturbing)—but this place is one of the subtler ones. Obviously, he hasn't had his accident in this universe. The dynamic here is different, too. Although he seems to have the same position in the hospital, people don't treat him with as much respect. Even the residents and interns joke around him, talk freely in a way they wouldn't around any other attending. 

It's not his world, he reminds himself. He'll take his cues from other people and act accordingly.

What else is different? He thinks there might be more male nurses working in the ER than he's used to. Most of them have the same omega tattoo—still no clue what it means—but the female nurses don't. He secretly checks out the hands of the doctors he works with throughout the day. No tattoos. He's the only one so far. 

He gets another clue as he's sitting at a mobile kiosk in a patient's room, looking through his files. There are three boxes to check for the sex of the patient: male, female, and omega. _Odd_. This patient—currently sedated, history of seizures—looks male, but his sex is marked as 'omega'. Stephen checks the patient's hand. The same tattoo.

So this world must have three sexes—Stephen's still not sure how that works. And he's apparently an omega here. Whatever the fuck that means. He doesn't feel different. A quick check in the bathroom during a break confirms that everything down there looks exactly like it's supposed to. He doesn't have enough time to Google it... or whatever it is people here do when they want to look something up. No mobile phone in his pocket, though others have them. And even though he's intensely curious, Stephen resigns himself to the fact that he probably won't figure it out before his time here is up. 

However, he quickly realizes that the gender politics in this world are just as fucked up as those at home. His first inkling comes when he's brought in on a consult for the unconscious seizure sufferer.

The man's family is packed into the little ER cubicle, eyes red and wary, braced for bad news. It's an odd family, he notices quickly—a couple in their mid-sixties who must be the parents, but there's another man who sits behind them. Stephen thinks at first that he's an older brother—he looks a lot younger than the other two—but the 'father' reaches back for the man's hand, softly kisses his knuckles. The man has the omega tattoo.

Three parents, then. He can deal with that.

Except the older woman's eyes harden as soon as she sees the tattoos on his own hands. She stays silent, regarding him with a closed-off expression as he explains about lesions and seizures and possible treatment options. 

When he's finished, the woman, who's obviously in charge, looks over his shoulder and says, "I want a second opinion."

Dr. Lee, the attending, steps forward. "Dr. Strange is the best neurosurgeon at Metro General. I can promise you that your son will receive the highest standard of care possible—"

The woman holds up a hand to stop her. "I'm sure he's very good, but I think I speak for our entire family when I say that we would be more comfortable with a male or female doctor." There are nods all around.

Stephen expects Lee to tell them exactly where to shove their fucking comfort, but she just sighs. "Dr. West is not on call right now, but I can have him paged..."

"Yes, thank you." They all stand up and shake hands with Lee, ignoring him completely. So Stephen steps out into the hall to seethe. He reminds himself that this is not his world, not his fight... Lee finally comes out and draws the curtain behind her. It's also not his place to say anything—he has no idea about this world's culture—but the expression on his face must be enough to give away his thoughts.

"Look, Stephen..." Lee starts. "You know these situations bring out the worst in people. You just... you can't let it get to you like that." She pats him on the arm and walks away.

And later—still angry and now feeling like shit, cramps or something—he stops in the break room to get some coffee. Dr. Mathis, a man Stephen's always considered a first-class dick, is already in there. Stephen is just standing there, staring into space and considering adding cream to his bitter, day-old coffee, when Mathis walks behind him. The man mutters, "Excuse me, gorgeous..." and pushes past, letting his hand drag across Stephen's ass. 

Stephen freezes, glares at the man's back as he walks off. 

_Did he just...? What the fuck is wrong with this place?_

 

***

 

Everything goes badly wrong when he heads to the ICU to check on the MVA patient from earlier.

He's leaning over the desk, trying to look at some new scans—his eyes are strangely blurry—when the patient's... _brother? husband?_ he can't really remember—comes in. "I'll be right with you," Stephen says. Her brain looks good. No new swelling, and—

Someone is suddenly pressed right up against his back, breathing hard. _The brother_. There's a weird smell in the air, and Stephen wonders if the guy is drunk. He's not sure what to do, but assaulting a patient's family member seems like a bad idea. He starts to turn around. "Hey, I—"

The man grabs the back of his neck roughly and squeezes. Stephen's body goes oddly limp, and he slumps against the desk. A wave of dizziness sweeps over him. An ache starts somewhere in his abdomen and spreads. _What's_ _happening to him?_ He wonders if he should try to get help... 

The man behind him presses closer, and Stephen can feel a hard bulge pressing into his thigh. _What the fuck...?_ _Is this guy coming on to him? Why can't he move?_ It's getting harder and harder to think clearly. _And what is that smell...?_

"Stop that. Sir, step away from him, please. Mark, can you get him?"

The dizzying pressure against his back is gone, and he can suddenly move again. Stephen turns around. Dr. Torres is standing there, looking stern. Stephen remembers her from his world as a meek, shy woman. A good doctor, but not someone who would ever be in charge. Here she's head of the department.

The brother, or husband, or whatever is being held back by a nurse. His face is red and he's clenching and unclenching his fists, staring at Stephen.

Torres raises her hand, placating. "Sir, if you could just—"

"It's not decent! Having him in here when he's like that. You can't expect..." the man splutters.

"I understand, sir. I apologize."

Stephen can't quite believe what he's hearing. "He just assaulted me..."

Torres gives him a sharp look. "Strange, wait outside. Actually, you're done here. Get off my floor and go get yourself cleaned up." She shakes her head at him. "I don't know what you were thinking. You're usually smarter than this."

He wants to protest, to say something, anything... _Not his world_ , he thinks. He's never been more glad of it.

 

***

 

Christine stops him in the hallway on his way back to the ER.

She frowns in concern at the state of him, puts her hand against his hot cheek. Apparently, they're still close in this world. She smells good. His belly cramps ominously. _Muscular_ , he thinks, _not intestinal_. He must be coming down with something. He might be having trouble focusing...

" _Damn it_ , Stephen." She shakes her head at him. "Jenna just called me. You shouldn't be here right now. This is cutting it way too close."

He has no idea what she's talking about, but he's used to that by now. He's learned to just roll with it. "I'm fine."

"You're _not_ fine." Christine's voice is rising, and Stephen thinks for a moment that she's pissed at him too. " _God damn_ , Bennet. And that bitch, Foster," she spits. "You know they're just doing this to prove a point, right? Scheduling you so close to your time? If you want to go to the advisory committee with a complaint, I'll be your sponsor. They've really gotten bold, ever since those bastards in Washington banned suppressants."

He opens his mouth to say something—he's not even sure what—but she cuts him off. "I know, I know... we've already talked about this, but... it's not fair. The way they treat you."

Christine sighs and checks her watch. He can tell she's tired, probably at the end of a long shift. "Look. Just give me an hour to finish up a few things and I'll drive you home, okay? Just stop by Andrology and get what you need, then go hide in the locker room. I'll come find you when I'm done."

 _Are they lovers in this universe? Friends?_ He still can't tell...

She touches his face again, eyes worried. "You _do_ smell good. _God_ , you smell so good... but I can't stay. Not tonight." She gives him one more sad smile, and then she's walking away.

Stephen wonders what that could possibly mean...

 

***

 

Whatever is wrong with him gets worse while he's waiting in the locker room. 

He has no idea where Andrology is, or even _what_ it is, so he heads straight to the locker rooms. Luckily, the place is empty when he gets there. He curls up on a bench, trying to ignore the shivering, clutching at his aching guts. He's been sicker, been in more pain before, but he's never felt quite so... _wrong_. His thoughts are all over the place, scattered. He can't focus.

He realizes belatedly that someone came in while he was suffering through the last spasm—he can hear the other man humming as he changes into scrubs. He lifts his head, tries to see who it is. _Oh fuck_ , it's an alternate universe version of Nic West—he forgot they called that dick in for a consult, on _his_ patient. Just what he needs right now...

Unfortunately, West has already spotted him. "Hey! You're not supposed to be in here." Apparently they hate each other in this world, too.

Stephen forces himself up onto his feet, doesn't want to appear weak in front of West. That weird smell is back, filling his head like a drug. _What the fuck is that?_ He's never smelled anything like it...

West slams his locker and stalks over. "What the fuck are you doing in here, Strange? This is the men's locker room."

 _Oh, right._ He forgot—he's not a man. "I'm... I just..." _Why is talking so fucking hard?_

West gets closer and so does the amazing smell. Stephen feels dizzy with it, overwhelmed. The other man stops abruptly when he's a few feet away. " _Jesus_ ," he whispers.

Stephen must look really bad, swaying on his feet. West is a doctor, albeit an incompetent one. Surely, even he can see that there's something wrong with him... "I need..." He has to swallow to try to get the words out. "I need help."

West rushes toward him, a wild look in his eyes, and Stephen thinks for a moment he's going to attack him. But West just grabs him and pushes him back into the wall of lockers. And then he leans forward and... _smells him?_ _What the fuck?_

"What are you...?" Stephen manages.

"Shhh... It's okay. It's okay. I can help you." West's voice is low, intimate. Stephen has no idea why he's talking like that. " _Jesus, Strange_... Why are you here? Didn't know you wanted it like this. You're such a damn ass to me, normally. I mean, you're gorgeous. I've wanted you for years, but..."

West is just rambling now, and none of what he's saying makes any sense. Stephen shakes his head, trying to clear it. _If he could just think..._

West presses closer, and now he's— _seriously, what the hell?_ —nuzzling at Stephen's neck. Stephen can't quite seem to summon the strength to shove him away. _It's that damn smell_ , he thinks. It's making him—

West suddenly bites down hard on his neck. Stephen moans and sags against the lockers. A padlock is digging painfully into his back, but it's nothing compared to the cramp that seizes him. Something wet and hot is trickling down his inner thighs. _Oh god, did he just piss himself?_

West reaches down between them, to Stephen's crotch, runs his hand up between his thighs where he's all wet. _Gods, what is he doing?_ Then he lifts his fingers back up to his face and... _licks them? Holy shit._ West closes his eyes in what looks like ecstasy.

Stephen realizes he has seriously underestimated how fucking weird this place is.

"Yeah, you're ready for me, aren't you? So fucking wet..." West grinds against him, and Stephen can feel that the other man is hugely, obscenely hard in his scrubs. " _Shit_. We can't do this here." West bites his lip, thinking. "Andrology's empty right now. Come on. They'll have what we need down there." He grabs Stephen's arm and pulls, and Stephen just follows him in a daze.

 _What the fuck is the matter with him?_ He should be punching this asshole in the face, not letting him bite his neck or do whatever he was doing with his fingers. And now, they're going for a stroll. But Stephen doesn't feel angry at all, just sick and drunk. _Maybe somebody put something in his coffee..._

They pass another man in the hall—a young doctor or intern, who also smells good. His dark eyes land on Stephen and widen. Stephen drifts closer to him as they go by, but West yanks him back and growls, "He's mine."

 _Should definitely punch West for that_. Instead, he mumbles, "I'm no one's, you asshole." It doesn't even make sense.

But he lets himself be pushed into and out of the elevator, then down a dark hall, lined with a series of what look like exam rooms and empty offices. He's not even sure what floor they're on, or what department this is. West stops in front of a door and pushes it open. "Lock's busted, and those cheap bastards never get around to fixing it," he mutters.

Stephen just stares back at him blankly, and then he's being dragged into the room. The light is turned on and the door is shut behind them. 

 _Exam room_ , he thinks, blearily. It's small. A single examination table—drawers underneath, stirrups folded up—covered with a fresh sheet of white paper, a stool for the doctor and chairs for the patient and family, magazines in a little rack on the wall, cotton balls in a jar on the desk. The posters on the wall are weird, though. Stephen tries to focus on the big one next to him—a side-view of what seems to be a male pelvis, cut away showing off the internal anatomy, but it's like nothing he's ever seen before. He sways closer and squints at it. What the fuck is that... _thing?_ He's not even sure what to call it, can't make out the words on the poster—he's too damn dizzy. But thereare a bunch of organs in there that make no sense...

His train of thought is interrupted by West sidling up behind him and nuzzling his neck again, enveloping him in that smell. _What the fuck...?_ But it feels so good. Stephen drops his head back against the other man's shoulder, groaning when West's hand moves down to his crotch and rubs at him through his scrubs. He's hard and aching. West bites down on his neck again and a wave of heat rolls through his body, along with another of those cramps. 

"Jesus, you're hot," West murmurs.

He _is_  hot, actually—he's pretty sure he has a fever. He's so fucking confused. _Why are they here?_

The cramp, or whatever it is, hasn't gone away, has gotten worse, in fact. He whimpers pathetically when it reaches a crescendo. His knees are going weak, legs shaking. _Something_... something's leaking out of him. Stephen winces at the sensation. _What's wrong with him?_

"It's okay, shh... I've got you. Here—" West is moving them again, frog-marching him over to the exam table. And then he's pushing at Stephen's shoulders, forcing him down until his face is lying against the cool paper. Stephen moves his hand over it slowly, letting the rustling fill his ears. The pain in his abdomen eases a little bit, but he's still so uncomfortable. His body is burning up. He's really sick, he thinks. He needs something...

West runs his hands up Stephen's back, under his shirt. And— _oh god, that feels good!_ Then his hands are moving down, beneath the waistband of Stephen's scrubs, sliding them off over his hips. The cold air on his ass makes him shiver.

Stephen still feels like he's moving one step slower than reality. _Are they going to fuck? Is that what's happening now?_ He tries to speak, but he can't quite make words happen. "Wh—what...?" is the best he can do.

"You're fine. I've got you. Don't worry, you'll be fine."

He's learned to just roll with the weirdness. But at the same time, he doesn't want to fuck things up for his alternate self. What would _this_ Stephen want? He has no idea. His body seems to want this, and Nic is acting like this is normal, so...

He's lost track of what's happening again, and is startled back to reality. His pants are gone. West's fingers are suddenly slipping into him, slick and wet. Warm skin against skin, no glove. He moans and pushes back against them, trying to get more inside. _Is there lube? Did they use any?_ There's no pain or stretching. In fact, it feels really fucking good. He just needs _more_...

West's hand on his hip keeps him in place. "Hold on, Strange. Jesus, you're so wet... Hold on. Just let me check..." 

 _Wait...?_ Is this sex or an exam? _Gods, he's so confused_...

He can feel West's fingers inside him, searching for something. Not his prostate, he's already too deep for that... Then the fingers touch something that send an electric jolt through his body. He whimpers and bucks against the hand holding him down. He can't help it. _What is that?_

" _Easy, easy!_ _Jesus_ , you're ready. Okay, hold on..." West's fingers are pulling out—Stephen whimpers again at the loss of sensation—and then the other man is across the room, digging through the drawers under the desk, and muttering to himself. " _Fuck_. Where the fuck...?"

Stephen just lies there, panting, staring at the poster on the wall next to him. It's really an advertisement, he knows—the kind the drug companies give out for free, and clinics put on their walls so they don't have to pay for art. 

 _Tovantin,_ it says in a bold font at the top. That must be the name of the drug, Stephen surmises. Under that, _Take control of your heats! Increase sperm retention and production with Tovantin._ There's a picture of a group of three stupidly happy, overly Photoshopped people, embracing. Two men and a woman. The man in the middle has an omega tattoo on his hand, prominently displayed. 

_Heats? Like a fucking dog? Is that what's happening to him?_

He can hear West rustling around behind him, ripping something open, then more rustling. "Sorry," he mutters. "Condom." And then—

 _Oh, gods_ , it feels so amazingly good! Even though West just shoves all the way in, all at once, his body seems fine with it. More than fine. It feels fucking fantastic. 

Apparently, the feeling is mutual. " _Jesus, that's good_. You're so wet. You want it so bad. You need my cock inside you, don't you? Yeah, come on. Come on, baby." West's encouragements become even more ridiculous each time he shoves into Stephen's body.

Stephen wants to tell him to shut up— _shut up, West, you're ruining it!_ —but he can't do anything other than moan helplessly and push back harder onto the cock inside him. His body feels so different, so swollen and sensitive, but more open than he's ever been. He needs more... He's not sure what he needs—this isn't his body and he obviously has no idea how it works.  _Something_... He spreads his legs a little wider, trying to get West's cock further inside. More friction. More something...

At least West seems to have a plan. "Hold on. Yeah, just let me..." He angles Stephen's hips down a little, and pushes around inside. "God, yeah, just like that. I'm almost there. Come on. _Fuck!_ Hold still, let me _... Jesus_ , I didn't think I'd need a guide—you're so open—but I can get one... Oh, wait. There it is. Hold on..."

Stephen's not even sure what he's trying to do, but then West shoves in hard and _something_ happens. Muscles he didn't even know he had are clenching around the cock inside him. Pleasure like an electric shock courses through his pelvis. He can barely breathe, manages only a surprised, " _Oh_..." as he comes. He tears at the paper on the table, grabs his own hair, just to have something to hold onto. He's never had an orgasm like this before, has no idea what's happening to his body. He's not even sure if he's ejaculating.

He can hear the other man groaning above him. " _Jesus_..." West is still deep inside him, not really thrusting, just rolling his hips back and forth gently. It's pulling on something inside him, making him feel good. He can feel tension building again slowly. 

West speeds up a little, rocks harder into him. "Yeah, Strange. One more time. Like that. Come for me, baby," he pants.

Stephen moans. Oh, he _is_ going to come again. " _Shit_..." he whispers. His muscles are spasming, little shivers that flow out from the center of his body. This time, it's slower, sweeter, like a rocking wave instead of a breaker. He presses his hot forehead into the cool paper and lets it take him.

He can hear West behind him saying, "Oh my god..." and grunting, but he's completely lost track of what the other man is doing. Eventually, West slumps down over his back, wheezing a little.  _Must have come then_ , Stephen thinks. He barely noticed. He moves around a little, trying to get comfortable. West is heavy.

"Rest a minute. I'm still stuck."

Stephen's too exhausted to get angry at the idea of being stuck on West's cock. He feels pretty good. Not quite as empty and desperate as he did before. West finally gets off his back. Stephen can feel something pulling at his insides as West moves. It sends an odd thrill through his body. But it also seems to trigger the start of another cramp. He shifts restlessly against the exam table. 

West seems to understand what's going on. He runs a soothing hand down Stephen's back. "Yeah, I'll get you. Just hold on. Give me a sec." He's still out of breath. "Jesus, that was amazing..."

After another minute, West pulls away. There's a strange half-pleasure, half-pain sensation as his cock slips out. Stephen shivers on the exam table, too tired to move.

"Just sit tight for a minute..." West throws the used condom in the biohazard bin, then he's opening drawers again, obviously looking for something else.

Stephen thinks his head might be a little clearer. The ache is coming back quickly, though. Another cramp, stronger than before. He tries to ignore it and focus on what West is doing. Opening a sealed kit containing a syringe, apparently. Stephen's never seen one quite like it before. It has a smooth, domed tip like the kind used in artificial insemination, but it's longer and a little thicker. It's also pre-filled with some white liquid. West plucks off the cap and gets in position behind him.

Stephen tries to twist around so he can see better. "What the fuck is that for?" he asks before he can stop himself.

West pushes him back down on the table, not too gently. "I said stay still." He chuckles and shakes his head. "Jesus, Strange, I know we spend most of our time at the other end of the body, but didn't you pay attention to anything else in med school?" 

He has to bite back a retort to an insult he doesn't even understand. 

"Relax." West grabs the back of his neck and squeezes, and Stephen goes limp again. It's... _odd_.

He jumps only a little when West's finger slips back inside. It still feels far too good. He bites his lip and resists the urge to push back, breathes hard through his nose.

West chuckles again. "Feels good, huh? Yeah... I could go another round. Just give me a minute. Hold still... Been a while since I've done this..." 

Even the cool plastic of the syringe feels good slipping into him, though he still has no idea what it's for, and he obviously can't ask... West is maneuvering it around inside him, using his finger as a guide, into—

" _Fuck!_ " He's going to have another orgasm in a few seconds. He can feel his muscles spasming around the hard syringe. _What the fuck is that? How is this happening?_ "Nic...?"

"You're all right. Just relax... _Relax_. Let it happen."

He comes again, only minutes after the last time, which was right after the first time. Which should not be fucking possible. West is leaning over him, trying to keep him still. After it's over, he pulls out the syringe. It's empty now. West tosses it in the sharps container.

"Feel better?"

Stephen  _does_ actually. Feel better. The annoying cramps are fading already. He's still horny as hell, though, and dizzy, and hot all over.

Stephen pushes himself up and turns around to face West. The other man has an infuriatingly smug smile on his face. He also hasn't bothered to tuck himself away, and his bizarre, alternative universe cock is out. And erect. _Gods, it's fucking weird_ —too long, and a little too thin, with a pronounced bulb at the tip. And, yet, Stephen wants the damn thing inside him again. _Right now._

West raises an eyebrow at the scrutiny. "Ready for another round?" Was that voice supposed to be seductive? 

 _I still hate you_ , Stephen thinks. But, yes, he is ready for another round.

Two more, actually, as it turns out.

 

***

 

Later, after they're reasonably decent, they take a cab to West's apartment. 

Stephen knows if he tried to get home alone, he'd probably end up letting something worse than Nic West fuck him. And neither of them want that. He doesn't actually know where home is, anyway, had planned to just stay at the hospital. But that's not possible now.

They fuck again almost as soon as they get in the door. Up against the wall, hard and fast. Then again on West's large bed. The man seems to have an endless supply of special condoms, designed to fit his weird dick. Maybe the Nicodemus West of this universe gets a lot of action. More likely, just wishful thinking.

Stephen slips away to the bathroom, splashes cold water on his face. Just four more hours and the spell will fade. Then he'll be home. He's already decided not to tell Wong anything about this little... _complication_. He stares at himself in the mirror for a while, knowing that if he goes back to bed now, he's going to fuck West again.

His double stares back at him, looking tired and flushed. "I'm sorry, other me," he mutters. "You're going to wake up tomorrow in Nic West's bed, and you'll have no fucking clue how you got there. I'll leave a note. It probably won't make sense to you." He doesn't want to get this Stephen in trouble. Doesn't want to get West in trouble either, though he suspects there won't be consequences for him—he's a man, after all.

Stephen shrugs. "I hope I didn't mess your life up too much. More than it already is, I mean. You would have known what to do. You would have gotten out of there before it was too late. Stayed with Christine, maybe... You still have your hands, but I... I don't envy you."

 _No_ , Stephen thinks. It's not that this world is all that bizarre... The _real_ problem with blindly jumping into an alternate version of yourself inhabiting a parallel universe, is that, sometimes, your alternate self is an asshole who doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.


	7. You Sexy Thing (Stephen/Loki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen/Loki
> 
> Stephen is having a bad night, so Loki shows him a good time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: drunk sex, mildly dubious consent (due to drinking), references to bestiality (no actual bestiality), shapeshifting, genderswap (sort of)
> 
> [You Sexy Thing](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=YUY9Y9RFiHY) by Hot Chocolate

Stephen's on his fifth or sixth drink—well on his way to oblivion—when a woman slides onto the seat next to him at the bar.

She's beautiful—dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders, black dress, killer body. The man behind her—some young businessman out on the prowl—keeps clearing his throat to try to get her attention.

She ignores him completely, green eyes focused solely on Stephen. "Hey, handsome," she purrs, voice low and husky.

Stephen looks her up and down and sighs. _Perfect_. He didn't think this night could get any worse. But it just did.

"You looking for a good time? Waiting for that special lady?"

Stephen snorts and turns back to his drink.

"No? A special man, then?"

Stephen slams back his drink, grimaces. The bartender is busy right now, so he waves a hand over his empty glass, refilling it.

"Or maybe," the woman continues, smiling, "you prefer something a little more exotic. Perhaps, a God?"

"Cut the bullshit, Loki," Stephen grumbles. He's not in the mood tonight.

"Oh ho! He speaks!" The woman's form shimmers and shifts, coalesces into the the God of Mischief, himself.

The businessman sitting next to Loki at the bar does a slow double-take, blinks a few times, and then quickly gulps down the rest of his drink.

Loki chuckles. "That's what I love about you humans—you're so unwilling to trust your own eyes. Makes it easier for a trickster like me to get by." He turns back to Stephen and smiles, flashing perfect white teeth. "I could never fool you, though.

"What are you doing here?"

Loki pretends to be offended. "I could ask you the same thing. Am I not also allowed to seek out simple pleasures of the flesh? Or... perhaps I should say, the pleasures of simple flesh." He grins at his own joke.

Stephen rolls his eyes. "I meant on Earth."

"I have some business here. That doesn't concern you," Loki adds. "And I had a little time to spare..."

Stephen shrugs, takes another sip of his drink. He should probably stop now, before the room starts spinning. More than it already is.

Loki gives him a sharp look. "You're not going to ask what business I have here? Warn me away from your pathetic little planet? Drop me into a portal to nowhere?"

"I'm not working tonight." If Loki was here to start shit, it would already be over. He's had too much to drink, made himself vulnerable. And they both know it.

"Ah, I see."

"What do you see?" He knows it's stupid to encourage Loki, but he's too drunk to care.

"What you're really after tonight," Loki says, voice low and intimate. "A distraction. Something new, perhaps. Something to help you forget how pathetic your existence is. How fragile and broken this mortal shell that you call home has become. How weak you are."

Stephen grimaces, tries to smile. "Seeing right through me, then," he says quietly. Loki's right, of course. He is pathetic. And weak. _Broken_. He sips his drink.

"I..." Loki actually looks guilty for half a second. "I just... see you. Out here, amongst these... _sheep_. Looking for something they can't give you." Loki leans closer. "But I can..."

 _What the hell...?_ Now it's Stephen's turn to do a double-take. That sounded suspiciously like a come on.

Stephen leans back a little so he can get a better look at the man sitting next to him. Dark, tight-fitting suit. Expensive green shirt—the color compliments his eyes. Hair slicked back. None of it is real, of course—it's just an illusion—but he does look like a man hoping to get lucky. Maybe they're both here for the same reason.

"Like what you see?" Loki asks.

Stephen lifts an eyebrow, takes another drink. "Maybe," he concedes. Loki's a good-looking man. Alien. _Whatever_. And he knows it, too. Stephen doesn't mind arrogance in his partners. As long as they know how to back it up... He suspects Loki does.

Loki shifts closer, puts a hand on Stephen's knee. Tentative at first, like he expects to get blasted into oblivion.

Stephen doesn't protest. He _did_ come here to meet someone. And he has met someone. Just not who he expected.

Loki's hand slowly slides up his leg, to his crotch. Stephen swallows hard. He locks eyes with Loki, who raises his eyebrows. A question there. Does he really want this? Does Loki?

Stephen groans when Loki's hand stops just at the juncture of his thigh, thumb rubbing enticingly back and forth, just millimeters from his erection.

The cloak shifts on his neck, uncoils like a snake. Obviously, it's not too pleased with his choice of partner.

Loki chuckles. "Are you still carrying around that old rag?"

Stephen gives the cloak a pat. "It's okay. Just ignore him. That's what I do most of the time." The cloak settles down, but Stephen can tell it's wary. He knows he should be, too.

Loki snorts, leans in closer. "You ought to control your pet, Sorcerer. I think it might be jealous." His thumb finally brushes against Stephen's erection, slides deliberately against him. They're both breathing hard now.

Stephen shudders and closes his eyes. "What do you want?" Apparently, they're doing this. 

"I want to take you somewhere and fuck you. Right now," Loki whispers in Stephen's ear. "Take me home with you."

Stephen squirms in his seat. _Fuck_ , he's turned on. "I'm not... letting you into the Sanctum. Sorry."

"Pity... Anyway, I've got a better place. If you'll come with me...?" There's a note of surprise and even vulnerability under the seduction. Stephen suspects that this exchange is just as confusing for Loki as it is for him.

This is probably a very bad idea. He's drunk and not thinking clearly. And Loki is... _Loki_. There's a trick coming, Stephen's sure. But he knows Loki didn't expect to find him here tonight. In this bar. Maybe he really was just looking for a distraction. 

"Okay. But... swear to me, that no harm will come to me tonight while I'm with you. A real oath."

Loki sits back, assessing. Probably trying to figure out if this is some kind of trap, too, Stephen thinks. Finally, he licks his lips and says, "I swear to you that no harm will come to you tonight, while you are with me."

Stephen can feel magic stirring in the air around them. Solid, unbreakable. A true oath. He nods, satisfied.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

 _What...?_ "Oh. Right. I swear to you that no harm will come to you tonight. While you are with me."

Loki's eyes gleam. "Now that we're safe from each other..." He holds out his hand. "Shall we?" 

Stephen takes it.

 

***

 

Loki transports them to a small clearing in a forest.

Somewhere still on Earth, Stephen's pretty sure. He looks around. It's a warm summer night. The moon is full above them. Bugs are singing in the trees. No one around. No lights. No road sounds, either.

"Well, this is very..."

"What?" Loki demands.

"Very primal," Stephen concludes. He swirls his hand and conjures a bottle of whiskey from the bar. It's not the best they have. Technically, it's still stealing and Stephen feels a little guilty about it. He offers the bottle to Loki. "Want some?"

Loki sneers. "Your weak human spirits have little effect on me. So, no, thank you."

"Suit yourself. And... cheers." Stephen takes a good, long swig. Liquid courage. He's still not sure what he's doing here. Maybe he's gone crazy.  

"Rules," Loki says. "We should have some rules before we begin."

"You can do whatever you want to me," Stephen slurs. "I like it rough. I'm just... I'm not into pain. I won't stay around for that."

"You're in luck then. I'm not into causing pain. Not tonight..." A smirk. "But you should be more careful with your promises in the future, Sorcerer."

Stephen knows what he just said, how dangerous it is. "I don't care." And he's surprised to find that it's the truth. He really doesn't care—not right now. He just wants to forget for a while. "I cast a protection ward on myself before I went out tonight."

Loki's mouth curves up in a wicked grin. "Oh, you _are_ clever!" He looks at Stephen curiously. "You really are up for anything, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Anything you want."

"And what do  _you_ want?" Loki backs away slowly, into the center of the clearing. "Another boring tryst with an anonymous stranger?" He shimmers and the woman from the bar appears again.

Stephen shrugs.

"Or something truly unique... Would you like to have a stallion?" Another shimmer, and now a black horse is standing in Loki's place, coat sleek and gleaming in the moonlight. It stamps a hoof and throws its head imperiously.

"I said I wasn't into pain. That includes a perforated bowel," Stephen says. "That's good, though. You really look like a horse." He takes another swig from the bottle.

"I could be a mare, perhaps... And you could be the stallion."

Stephen shrugs again. "Still not that into horses."

"Fine," Loki sighs. The horse shimmers and is replaced by a large-eyed, glowing tentacle creature.

Stephen leans forward. "Is that a—"

"A Silurian. Yes." Loki waves a tentacle seductively. "What do you think?"

Stephen grins. "I think you're just showing off now."

The tentacles slump down. "You're hard to please."

More of Loki's magic. And suddenly Steve Rogers is standing there, in his old uniform, a crooked smile on his handsome face. "Tonight you can be whatever you want. And I can be whatever you want. So, the question is... What do you want?"

"Shape changing gives me a headache, so... Maybe, just, ah... you."

Steve Rogers shimmers again, and Loki is back. Tight black pants—his ass really does look amazing in those pants, Stephen thinks—jacket off, hair loose. "Just... me?" 

"Yes," Stephen says, voice low and rough. "Come here." He manages to set down the bottle without spilling it or landing on his face.

Loki does, sauntering over. His eyes are dark in his pale face, pupils dilated. He looks more feral now than he did in the bar. _Dangerous_. He reaches out and rests his cold fingers on Stephen's neck, slides them up into his hair.

"You don't really want to be a horse, do you?" Stephen murmurs. "What do _you_  want?"

Loki inhales sharply. "You... on your knees before me." His eyes flick down to Stephen's mouth. "My cock in your mouth."

Stephen closes his eyes. "Yes," he whispers. He wants that, too. Suddenly, that's all he wants.

Loki tugs on his head and he stumbles to the ground. The grass and dirt are slightly damp, but soft under his knees. The smell of the earth is stronger down here. He feels out of control, like some wild creature, driven by instinct.  _Primal_ , he'd said—it seems appropriate now. He sways forward and reaches for Loki's flies, fingers trembling. The other man suddenly yanks on his hair, forcing his head back. Not hard, though.

"Say 'please'," Loki says.

Stephen smiles to himself. They're going to play this game, then. He doesn't mind—not when he's in this type of mood. "Please," he says. "Please, let me suck your cock."

"Yes," Loki hisses. His hand tightens in Stephen's hair. "But... Let me do this part. I don't have an eternity to spend watching you fumble about." Magic shimmers again, and Loki's flies are suddenly open.

Stephen rolls his eyes. "I could have done that. I know how to use magic, too."

"Oh, I _was_ talking about your magic," Loki says innocently. "What were you talking about?"

" _Jackass_..."

"I thought there would be less talking and more cocksucking." 

Stephen smiles, then pulls his flies apart and reaches in. Loki's cock is hot under his fingertips. He's sure that's an illusion. He doesn't mind, though. He pulls Loki's pants down to mid-thigh, rests his head against his crotch, trying to catch his breath.

Loki's cock is uncircumcised, a nice shape and size. Long and curved. Stephen pulls back his foreskin and licks the tip. Tastes good, too. He slides his mouth down around the glans. Loki's fist tightens in his hair. Stephen moans and pushes down as far as he can, taking Loki's cock into the back of his throat.

Loki groans. "Oh, I should have you like this more often. Forget magic... You were made to suck cock."

Stephen slides his mouth back up, keeping his lips tight, and then does it again. This time he swallows around the cock in his throat. Loki grunts and his hips jerk hard, shoving in deeper. Stephen doesn't mind—he's had a lot of practice doing this. His own erection is now painfully hard, but he can be patient. He grabs onto Loki's hips for balance, relaxes his throat, and lets the other man fuck his face. 

By the time Loki comes down his throat, yanking at his hair, he feels infinitely better.

 

***

 

"I want to have you again," Loki murmurs.

"Hmm...?"

They're lying in the damp grass, side-by-side. Naked. The cloak is draped across them like a blanket. Apparently, it's into this now, too.

Stephen blinks up at the stars he can see through the tree canopy. Not many—the moon is far too bright. Brighter than anything else in the sky, hanging low on the horizon. It's getting closer to dawn. The few fireflies that were out earlier have given up their courtship for the night. He's feeling pleasantly tired after letting Loki use him in every way imagineable. And a few ways he'd never imagined before. His enemy has proven to be an enthusiastic and surprisingly attentive lover.

He thinks this might be the most peaceful few minutes he's ever spent with Loki. Or, at least, the longest they've gone without trying to destroy each other.

Stephen shifts on the grass, trying to decide if his body can handle another round. "My ass is sore," he mumbles. "Give me a minute to recover and I'll cast a numbing spell."

"Mortals," Loki scoffs. He leans up over Stephen, dark hair brushing his chest, blocking his view of the stars. "No need for that. I don't want your arse right now, as tempting as it is... I have a better idea." He puts his hand over Stephen's crotch.

"What—?"

Magic flashes suddenly, hot and stinging in Stephen's groin. " _Ow!_ Hey, I said I wasn't into pain."

"Oh, stop whining. It will be over in a second. There." Loki sits back, smug.

The burn fades away, but he still feels... _different_. Stephen reaches a hand down there. "What did you— _oh_." 

"Oh, yes."

His penis and testicles are gone, and now he has a vagina. Stephen frowns up at Loki. "That's not permanent, is it?"

"Of course not. Just a slight modification for tonight."

 _Wait_... His voice sounds the same. Stephen grabs at his chest. _Nothing_. "You didn't actually turn me into a woman."

"No. You said shapeshifting gives you a headache. I was trying to be considerate. And, I... prefer your natural form. As annoying as it can be sometimes..."

Was that a hint of embarrassment in his voice? Stephen's pretty sure that it was.

Loki rolls back on top of him, kisses his neck. "Now... shall we try this out?"

The cloak flies up and settles on Loki's shoulders.

Stephen glares at it. Traitor, he thinks. This is weird, but he's never said 'no' to something new. "Yeah." _Why the hell not?_

Loki's hand strokes down his body, fingers searching. And then... slide into him. He tenses up.

" _Oh_." The edges of the cloak wrap around his knees, give them a gentle tug. _That's weird.._. Stephen lets his legs fall open. "Uh, um..." _Interesting_. It's a little tight, but he relaxes and it's suddenly better.

Loki's fingers are gentle—two inside now, thumb rubbing against his clitoris. "How does that feel?"

Pretty good, actually. Different. Stephen can feel himself getting swollen and wet down there—that's completely new, too. "Feels good," he mumbles. He arches his back a little. He suddenly wants more. "Why don't you fuck me?"

"I intend to." Loki sits back between his legs, eyes bright. "After I have a little fun." He leans down.

Stephen watches as Loki's dark head moves down between his thighs, breathing hard. The first touch of the other man's tongue to his new clit is electric. 

" _Oh, fuck!_ " Stephen curls up around Loki's head, grabs at his hair.

Loki puts a hand on his chest and shoves him back down, frowns at him. "Do you mind?"

"S—sorry. Just, uh..." 

Loki goes back to work with his mouth and Stephen can't help writhing on the ground. _Oh_ , that's... really amazing. Loki's tongue is inside him, along with his fingers, thrusting in and out. He's never felt anything like this before. Loki sucks on his clit and Stephen's leg kicks out involuntarily. " _Fuck!_ "

His insides are tightening up. Shivery pleasure follows every stroke of Loki's clever tongue. He's moaning now on each exhale—he can't help it. 

Loki lifts his head, a satisfied grin on his face. He knows Stephen's close. "Let me try something," he says. 

Stephen gasps as the fingers inside him suddenly turn cold. The shock makes him jerk and writhe. Loki presses him down.  The cloak pushes his knees apart. It's too much—he's going to...

"Loki... _oh, fuck! Oh_..." He stuffs his arm into his mouth before he can say anything truly mortifying.

"Yes," Loki hisses. He pumps his fingers faster now, watching Stephen as he loses control. And his other hand is... _oh!_ The pressure inside him builds and breaks.

Stephen comes hard, groaning against his arm and pressing his knees into Loki's sides. His internal muscles contract again and again around Loki's cold fingers, each tight clench a rush of pleasure. It would almost be painful, but Loki holds still until Stephen relaxes around him, becomes loose and pliant again.

Stephen collapses against the ground, tries to catch his breath. His thighs are trembling, weak. _Gods, he feels good_. He watches as Loki languidly strokes his own cock a few times. Eyes half-closed, a smile on his face. Obviously enjoying Stephen watching him. He looks good wearing the cloak, bathed in moonlight.  _Otherworldly_ , Stephen thinks. Then he drops down and covers Stephen's body with his own, pushes forward, enters him with one stroke.

That's different, too... "Huh." Stephen lets out the breath he'd been holding.

"What?" Loki flips his hair out of the way so he can look Stephen in the eye.

"I just... thought that would be more painful, for some reason. I've never... done this before." He feels full, but good. Still drunk—his head is spinning just slightly. Not enough to be unpleasant. He wraps his legs around Loki's back and the cloak tucks itself around them. _Better_...

"I can make you a woman"—a wicked grin—"but not even a god can make you a virgin again."

"Shut up and fuck me."

Loki chuckles. "I plan to..."

 

***

 

And, later... The first light of dawn is spreading across the sky, chasing light blue after dark.

 _Dawn_. When their oaths will break, and they will have to go back to being enemies again. Stephen sighs and tucks a lock of hair behind Loki's ear. Right now, everything is easy and uncomplicated. They're both dirty and tired—covered in bits of grass, dried leaves, and scratches. Simple creatures of the forest.

He presses his lips against Loki's neck. "Now... what do you want?" he asks.

"Now, it's your turn."

"To do what?"

"To fuck me, obviously." His tone implies he's had enough of mortals and their idiocy, but his eyes are almost fond.

Stephen chuckles. "I'd love to. There's just one problem with that..."

"Hmmm...? Oh, yes. Of course."

Another flash of pain that fades quickly. Stephen reaches down to check and exhales, relieved. 

He rolls over, presses Loki's sleek, white body to the ground. Tomorrow, they'll both go back to their lives. But tonight, they can be anything they want.


	8. All Shades of Blue (Stephen/vampire)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen/vampire (POV shift)
> 
> Sheriff Gabriel Martinez has always had to hide what he is. Then he meets someone who knows everything about him. Someone who can give him everything he's always wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: blood drinking, drugged sex, orgasm delay/denial, mild D/S themes, shameless smut
> 
> I took some liberties with the geography of New Mexico.
> 
> [All Shades of Blue](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=WhJXlb10UtE) by Gregory Alan Isakov

The New Mexico desert was hot as hell even hours after sundown.

The wind sweeping off the valley carried the heat of the day along with it. The hot breeze rose out of the flats and arroyos to challenge the cold air rolling down from the mountains like an invading army. Towering cumulus clouds bloomed where they clashed.

Gabe leaned carefully against the splintered wood of the old shed. He closed his eyes and let the wind blow the hair back out of his face. Fifteen minutes past ten. He didn't mind waiting—it was a nice night. Peaceful. The summer air had a hint of moisture that promised rain. Insects and night birds sang from their hiding places out in the sage.

There was a hiss and smell of magic somewhere off to his left. _Wong_. Late, as usual.

"Took you long enough," Gabe teased. He set his bat against the building and turned around to greet his friend.

But the man who stepped out of the portal wasn't who he was expecting. This guy was tall and dark-haired, lanky. A few years older than Gabe, maybe. A severe-looking goatee on his handsome face. Dressed in the ridiculous robes of a Sorcerer. Did anyone really need that many belts? An even more ridiculous red cape was draped across his shoulders.

The man's quick eyes darted around, taking in the empty graveyard before settling on Gabe, apparently waiting for him to say something.

"You're not Wong," Gabe said. _Fuck_ , he was already making a fool of himself. He just hadn't expected this stranger.

The man narrowed his eyes. "An astounding observation," he muttered, then, "No. Wong couldn't make it. I'm Doctor Strange. I hear you have a zombie problem." He had a deep, cultured voice, the flat inflection of someone from up north.

"We call them wraiths here," Gabe said automatically.

Doctor Strange, huh? That sure was a name... He figured this guy had already heard every joke that sprang to mind so he decided not to bother. Plus, he didn't seem like the type who might appreciate such things.

"What are you a doctor of?" Maybe he was some kind of witch doctor? Last time Gabe checked, they weren't handing out fancy degrees for learning magic.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Medicine."

Oh. A real doctor. That was... _huh_.

The Sorcerer was still just staring at him like he was an idiot. _Damn it._  The night had just started and they were already off on the wrong foot. If Wong had sent this guy, he must be okay, so Gabe figured he should play nice. He sighed and stuck out his hand. "Sheriff Gabriel Martinez. But everyone calls me Gabe."

The guy glanced down at Gabe's outstretched hand and then hesitated. Gabe frowned. Did this asshole think he was too good to shake hands with him?

The man finally, reluctantly, put his own hand out. Gabe shook it. The man's fingers trembled just slightly and his grip was odd. _Weak_. Maybe not such an asshole then. Just injured. Gabe glanced down. Yep. There were old scars along the backs of his fingers.

The man's eyes hardened at Gabe's look and he pulled his hand away. "Let's get to work." He spun around, sending his stupid cape swirling, and strode off toward the old graveyard.

 _Got it right the first time_ , Gabe thought. Definitely an asshole. A damn fine one, though.

"You coming, Sheriff?"

 _Lord_ , it was gonna be a long night. Gabe swung his bat up onto his shoulder and followed the Sorcerer out into the desert.

 

  
***

 

The first wraith emerged just after the moon rose, clawing its way from the dry dirt like something straight out of a horror film.

Gabe swung his bat hard and the empty skull went flying. The rest of the thing fell apart into a heap of bones. _Easy_.

These corpses were old—at least from the 1800's, based on the age of the church and their state of desiccation. Gabe didn't mind them so much. These old bones. The fresher ones were much worse. Too wet. They made a hell of a mess when you whacked them. These old ones just... fell apart.

Gabe was off by himself at the edge of the churchyard, picking off stragglers. He kept an eye on the Sorcerer, though. He was impossible to miss out in the desert—the smell and feeling of his magic was like a beacon to Gabe's enhanced senses.

The guy was standing over a shallow crater dug out by the emerging corpses. Gabe called them 'wraith holes' because that's what everyone else in town had always called them. Apparently these things burrowed underground like gophers for a while before emerging all at once on the night of the full moon. He wasn't sure why they did that, but it had always creeped him out. Just a little.

A single wraith suddenly burst out of the dirt, waving its skeletal arms around wildly. They weren't actually dangerous, Gabe knew. It was all a bluff.

The Sorcerer moved his arms in some complicated magic gesture that Gabe couldn't see well and the wraith dropped to the ground and lay still. Another corpse, dressed in tattered rags that must have once been a suit, staggered to the top of the hole and took off running as fast as its rickety bone legs could carry it. The guy brought his hands together and the wraith blew apart into a cloud. Gabe thought it was dust at first, until the cloud started to move. He realized it was made of thousands of tiny, shining white moths. They flickered out one by one like little flames.

A spell turned the next corpse into dried leaves. Another turned three at once into sand. And that seemed to be the last of the dead from that hole.

Every so often the wind would shift and carry the scent of magic-tinged blood to Gabe's sensitive nose. The best smell he could imagine. He'd take a moment to close his eyes when there were no corpses nearby to deal with and just... breathe it in.

He couldn't really help it. He was a vampire, after all. Blood was kind of his thing.

Magic users and vampires had a complicated relationship. Mostly because the blood of a someone who used magic was just better than a normal human's. Better than anything else. Vampires in the past had gone to great and, sometimes, horrifying lengths to get it. And even then, the best they could probably catch were some low-level users. Masters of the arts were not prey that any vampire could handle.

Things were different now. His kind were regular citizens—holding jobs, raising families, contributing to society. Fitting in. He could still get what he needed, he just had to be discrete about it. After the end of the last war between their races—which, as far as Gabe knew, was sometime during the Middle Ages—vampires and magic users had come to a kind of uneasy truce. They were allies of sorts now.

Even so, he'd only tasted magic blood a few times—the last was some tarot reader from Taos he'd hooked up with—but it was incredible. He wanted to have it again. And this guy smelled a fuck of a lot better than the tarot card reader.

 _Focus_ , Gabe reminded himself. Just get the job done.

The goal of the night's work was containment. To make sure the wraiths couldn't reach a more populated area and infect more corpses. They were just a part of life here, but regular folks still found them terrifying. And no one wanted to see their loved ones rise from the grave. He'd dealt with a few incidents where a wraith reached a town, and he really didn't feel like dealing with that again.

Superstition, New Mexico was a quiet place. And it was his job to keep it that way. 

One of them shuffled along, stumbling blindly over rocks and bumping into clumps of sagebrush. A woman, judging by the remains of jewelry still circling her bony neck. She must've come out of her own hole, somewhere unnoticed.

Gabe strolled up casually and gave her left femur a good whack with the bat. The wraith toppled over onto its side, started clawing its way across the ground. He swung the bat again and again and reduced the old, dry skull to a pile of dust. She finally lay still.

"Go back to the desert," he said quietly. It was the only benediction he could think of for these things. 

A few feet from him, an old, wooden grave marker toppled over. The ground began to shift and sink and a bony hand suddenly reached up through the dirt. Another hole.

Gabe glance around for the Sorcerer. He was about fifty yards away, hunkered over, maybe looking at something on the ground.

"Hey, Doctor Wizard! Over here!"

Gabe could practically see the guy stiffen and he stifled a laugh. He knew calling a Sorcerer a wizard was an insult. He wasn't sure why—some kind of cultural thing among magic users—but Gabe could never resist the urge to give one of those arrogant bastards shit. Even Wong. _Especially_ Wong.

"Yes?"

Gabe spun around. The asshole was suddenly standing right next to him. Gabe hadn't even heard him move. How had he gotten over here so fast? 

Gabe frowned. "Shouldn't sneak up on a guy with a bat and an itchy trigger finger."

The other man actually smiled at him. More of a smirk, but still... "I'll keep that in mind."

The latest hole had about ten corpses inside. The Sorcerer dispatched all of them, never using the same spell twice. Gabe wondered if he was showing off. Or maybe he just got bored doing the same thing over and over.

When that was done they moved on to the next hole. And then the one after that.

They worked well together, Gabe thought. The Sorcerer took care of most of the undead, but he got a few good whacks in, busted some skulls. It was a nice night and the job was easy—no way a wraith could slip past the two of them out here. Good, honest work.

Gabe was surprised to find that he was enjoying himself.

 

***

 

Later when things quieted down, they rested in the dirt next to the crumbling wall of the old church. 

Gabe slung his backpack between his knees so he could grab his water bottle. He glanced over at the man sitting next to him. He looked hot and tired—not surprising after the display of magic Gabe had just witnessed. The man's formerly neat hair hung over his sweaty face. And his eyes were closed. He smelled a little like Wong did—like paper and incense and magic—but better. So much better. 

Gabe took a long drink of tepid water, grimaced, and then held it out. "Water?"

The guy opened his eyes and looked at the bottle suspiciously then at Gabe, but he took it. "Thanks." He drank a little before handing it back. Not enough, in Gabe's opinion.

"You're going to overheat in those clothes," he pointed out. "Even at night. Especially at night. People always underestimate how hot it is out here. I know we're at altitude, but the summers are still brutal." He spent a lot of his time rescuing people who came to the desert ill-equipped to deal with the heat and the emptiness. Most folks expected to find a convenience store every few miles, but that wasn't the case out here.

Gabe expected the guy to get offended—he was a doctor, after all, probably thought he knew everything—but he seemed to seriously think it over for a moment. "You're right." He leaned forward and turned his head to the side, said, "Give me a second."

It took a moment for Gabe to realize he was talking to his cape. The thing lifted up off of his shoulders and just hovered there. By itself.

Gabe shook his head and huffed out a laugh. He was a real goddamn vampire, fighting a fucking undead horde with a Sorcerer, but there was no way he'd ever get used to that. 

He smelled magic and looked back over. The man sitting next to him was now wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and a faded black t-shirt with white writing across the front, scuffed hiking boots. The cape hovered beside him.

 _Shit_. He looked even better out of those ridiculous robes, younger. More like a regular guy now, maybe someone a small-town sheriff had a chance with... A guy who was  _exactly_ his type: dark hair, pale skin, long legs, tall and thin. Plus, Gabe had to admit his confidence was appealing even if he was an asshole. And that long, white neck looked even more tempting now that it wasn't covered up by a high collar. Gabe took another hasty drink to hide the fact that he'd been staring. 

"You're a vampire."

Gabe looked up, startled. _Shit_. Had the guy caught him staring at his neck? "Yeah, I am. Didn't Wong tell you that?

The other man snorted softly. "Wong doesn't tell me anything."

Gabe chuckled. That was Wong, for sure.

"So..." The Sorcerer was just looking at him curiously. No fear or disgust on his face. A vampire was really no match for a magic user anyway, especially one who could do the crazy shit Gabe had just seen this guy do. "How is that working out for you? Being a vampire in a... place like this?"

His eyes were light, Gabe suddenly realized, blue or gray—hard to tell at night. He'd thought they were dark before, maybe because the guy had a perpetual scowl on his face.

 _Damn_. He had a thing for blue eyes.

Gabe remembered he was supposed to be answering a question. "Uh... It's not working for me. I mean, I'm not really... _out_ about that." It felt so weird to talk about this. "I don't think most people here would understand. So I... keep goats. For the blood I need. I treat them well. They're more like pets than livestock. And when I need something more..."

Gabe wasn't sure how much he should say about what he did. He snuck another quick look at the guy next to him. But there was no judgement on the other man's face, just interest.

He let out a long breath. "When I need something more, I... head down to Albuquerque or Santa Fe, or over to Taos, any of the bigger cities. There are places there where I can meet men..." _Fuck_ , now he'd also just confessed to being gay. He figured that was probably obvious, too. "I mean, men who are lookin' to hook up with other men. I can sneak a drink like that. Can't, uh... can't really do that around here either. You know, not with... my job." He patted the star on his khaki shirt.

He figured everyone in town knew he had a secret. And he was just fine with letting them assume that secret was that he liked men. Better that than his thirst for blood, he supposed. Either way, he kept to himself and the people of Superstition didn't pry.

The Sorcerer nodded, brows furrowed. "There must be something keeping you here, then." Not a question, not exactly.

"I grew up here. It's kinda... in my blood." Gabe shrugged and dragged his boot heel through the dust. "I like the desert. The quiet. It's my home. I've thought about leaving, but it's hard. You know... to leave behind the things we've always been around."

Why _had_ he stayed? 

His Mamá came here from a small village somewhere in Mexico years before he was born. A village of vampires, from what he'd gleaned from her stories. It sounded like paradise. He'd never thought to ask her why she left. And then she was gone, taking her stories with her to the grave. He'd never known his father at all. Mamá claimed he was Native American—not from one of the local reservations, but from somewhere else, farther north. Gabe wasn't sure he believed her, couldn't really see a hint of it in his own features. All he really knew about the guy was that he was a bastard who took off with her money and broke her heart. And that he must have been a vampire.

After Mamá died, he left Superstition. He went to college in Albuquerque, had some fun, served on the police force there. He found a few other vampires, talked to them, but he'd never felt accepted by them. They were mostly white and rich—had moved down here to find themselves—and a local boy like him had nothing to offer that they couldn't find somewhere else. Still, Gabe enjoyed his time away. He couldn't be 'out' in the way that he wanted because of his career, but he could meet men. He broke a few hearts, had his heart broken.

And then he came back.

Back to Superstition. Gabe still wasn't sure why. The people here accepted him, despite everything. Respected him. He was one of them, after all. Maybe that was enough.

Lightning flashed bright across the valley and the Sorcerer jumped. The sound of thunder took a long time to reach them. Gabe knew they wouldn't get wet. Not anytime soon. Storm was still too far away. But distance was a funny thing out here. He'd thought about that a lot. The way the emptiness made everything seem closer than it really was. 

There was a scuffle somewhere out in the darkness, and then the unmistakable sound of rocks toppling. More of the dead rising. Gabe sighed. "Looks like our break's over." He shoved the water bottle into his backpack and hauled himself to his feet, dusted his ass off.

He watched as the other man climbed wearily to his feet. All that magic must have taken it out of him.

"Wilco, huh?" He pointed to the Sorcerer's shirt. "I guess their stuff with Billy Bragg isn't too terrible." 

"I'll... take that as a compliment on my taste in music."

Was that an actual smile this time? Gabe was pretty sure it was. He slung his backpack on and picked up his bat, gestured to the desert. "After you, Doc."

The Sorcerer considered the old graveyard for a moment. "This way." He set out to the east, back toward the center of the abandoned town. His weird cape floated beside him like a bloody ghost. 

 _Damn_ , his ass looked good in those jeans. 

Gabe shook his head and followed along behind, trying not to stare.

 

***

 

The emerging corpses slowed to a trickle by midnight.

Gabe kept closer to the Sorcerer now, watching him. He'd always enjoyed watching experts work. Didn't matter what it was that they did—he'd once spent an afternoon watching a crew of guys lay a new sidewalk. He was fascinated by their quick, efficient movements. Their absolute confidence in their skill.

This guy was no different. The way he moved his hands—elegant, graceful, precise. That slight tremble seemed to disappear when he was working. Gabe spent a while trying to figure out if there was any pattern to what the Sorcerer was doing. Did he touch his middle finger to his thumb every time he turned a corpse to dust? Did moving his arm counter-clockwise make the old bones fall apart? He gave up after a while and decided to just enjoy the show.

They stopped to rest around two in the morning, leaning up against an old adobe wall. The night was finally cooling off. Both of them were dusty and tired. But Gabe felt pretty good, the way he usually did after a night of honest work. And he was enjoying the other man's peaceful company. The two of them finished off his bottle of water—he had more in the truck—and he dropped it back into his backpack.

The Sorcerer made a quick gesture and a little glass jar with a cork in the top appeared in his hand. He held up the jar.

Gabe could see a few small swirls of blue light swimming around inside. "Are those...?"

"These are the entities that animate the corpses."

"Really? _Holy shit_ , they're small. Do you mind if I...?" Gabe gestured at the jar.

"Sure." He passed it over.

Gabe held it closer so he could get a better look. Tiny glowing specks circled inside the glass, leaving little trails of light behind. They reminded him of a nature show he'd seen on PBS—something about glowing algae that lived in the ocean. Gabe had never actually been to the ocean, but that's what these looked like to him.

He handed the jar back over, trying to ignore the thrill that went through him when his fingers accidentally brushed the other man's.

"What are they?" He thought he knew everything that dwelled in the desert, but he'd never seen these before.

The guy held the bottle up and scowled at the specks swirling randomly inside. "They don't have a name yet." He closed his eyes and tilted his head, like he was listening for something. His hand trembled slightly. Gabe watched his face, fascinated by the change in him—the way the lines smoothed out and softened.

"They're not sentient, I think..." The Sorcerer opened his eyes and frowned at the jar. "Not intelligent in a way we would understand. More like a virus."

"I think they're native to this part of the world. Probably feeding on magical energy. There's a lot of that around here." He nodded at the foothills rising up around them, the mountains. "They use the corpses as a kind of shelter and transport, replicate inside, move around until the one they're using falls apart, find a new corpse to animate. I think they normally inhabit the corpses of small animals, insects, spiders. Something no one would notice out here. They only became a problem after we came here. We changed the environment. Started burying our dead underground, all together, in places like this." He gestured to the old churchyard. "Places where scavengers couldn't pick them apart, where they were protected from the elements. Suddenly, these things could jump from body to body, replicate faster. Now we have outbreaks like this."

Gabe decided he could listen to this guy talk about magical shit all day. Or anything really.

"That's..." He'd never considered the wraiths a part of the desert before. But he supposed they must be. Just another creature trying to survive in a harsh world. As natural here as the jackrabbits and pronghorns and bitterbrush. They were irritating, sure, but really no different than the desert locusts drawn to a farmer's alfalfa crop. He watched the blue specks in the jar. "They're beautiful."

The Sorcerer nodded. "They are, aren't they." He stared at the jar for another moment, then waved a hand over it and it disappeared in a little shower of sparks. He looked back up at Gabe and smiled. A real, genuine smile.

And before Gabe even realized what he was doing, he'd grabbed the guy by the face and pressed their lips together. The other man stiffened up but didn't pull away. Gabe let go of him and staggered back.  _Fuck_. He hadn't meant to do that. It just... happened.

" _Shit_. I'm sorry, man. I just... I just got carried away."

At least the guy hadn't punched him yet. Gabe decided to take that as a good sign. Still... What was he thinking?

The other man was just looking at him with that assessing gaze, like he was figuring something out. "Sheriff..." he said. "I think there's something you should know."  
  
_Lord_ , here it comes, Gabe thought. The 'I'm straight' speech. God knows he was used to that by now. "Yeah? What's that?" He managed to keep his tone light, keep the disappointment out of his voice.

The Sorcerer raised one eyebrow, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "There's a zombie behind you."

Gabe whirled around and— _fuck!_ —there was, too!

This one had gotten tangled up in some barbed wire and was dragging an old, dry-rotted fence post behind it. Gabe had no fucking clue how he'd let something like that sneak up on him. He must be off his game tonight. But before he could even raise his bat, the old, dry skeleton disintegrated into a pile of dust. The barbed wire rattled to the ground.

He turned around and the guy was just standing there with his hand raised. "Last one of the night, I think," he said.

Gabe looked around. It did seem quieter now. Maybe the outbreak was over. Too bad he'd just fucked everything up... "Right, Doc. I suppose we should get back out there. Make sure all the holes are empty." 

"It's Stephen."

He turned back to look at the guy. He was still standing by the wall. "What's that?"

"My name." A wry smile.

Stephen, huh? Stephen the Sorcerer, Gabe mused. That was better than Doctor Strange. Apparently, he hadn't blown it completely. Not yet.

Gabe rubbed a hand over his mouth, hesitating. He never took chances or risked outing himself as either a vampire or a gay man—not around normal folks. But this guy wasn't normal, was he? And he'd already made a damn fool of himself tonight. What could it hurt to ask? Even if Stephen wasn't gay, he might still be willing to donate some blood.

"Hey, Stephen... uh... Why don't you come back to my place before you take off? After we finish up here. Have a drink with me?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Gabe winced internally.  _Damn_ , he was the king of terrible innuendo tonight. Something about this guy was getting to him, throwing him off his game. The magic, that arrogance, the smell of his blood... Gabe couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted someone so badly.

Stephen smirked at him—maybe he liked bad double-entendres, too?—but then his eyes grew serious. He knew what Gabe was asking for. "Yes. I'll come with you."

 

***

 

He'd expected Stephen to just magic them back to his house, but he didn't offer.

Gabe ended up driving them home. It wasn't far and he didn't want to leave the truck out here anyway. Though he figured there was most likely a spell that could move a car, too.

And the drive gave him a chance to clear his head, think about what he was about to do. He was bringing a man home. To his house. The first time he ever had. And not just that... He was bringing a man home for the purpose of drinking his blood. At least, he was pretty sure that's what was about to happen. Stephen must've known what he meant...

He glanced over at the other man, but he had his head tipped back and his eyes closed. The magic cape was wrapped around him like a blanket. Wind from the open window blew his hair back. He looked like he might be asleep.

Gabe turned the radio on low to keep him company. You couldn't get much out here—a few stations peddling a religion he no longer believed in and two that played country music. Newer shit, mostly, that he didn't much care for. The local NPR station played classic country after midnight, so he settled on that. _Crazy_ by Patsy Cline. He'd heard that song a thousand times, and he could probably listen to it a thousand more. He hummed along quietly as they drove along the empty highway.

Stephen finally woke up when they turned onto the long dirt road that led up to his house. Gabe watched him from the corner of his eye as he stared silently out the window.

They left the valley floor and climbed up into the foothills, where the sagebrush and scrub gave way to piñon and short, scrubby ponderosa pines. The road became winding and pitted. Gabe would need to have it re-graded soon. It was something he did every year after the summer rains washed it out. Finally, he rounded the last switchback. And there was home. Gabe pulled into the gravel driveway, put the truck in park, and turned off the ignition. They both sat in the dark for a moment.

His house was modest, dwarfed by the immense emptiness of the desert surrounding it. 

Gabe liked it that way. He'd always tried to live simply, the way his Mamá taught him. Solar panels on the roof, rain barrels to catch the infrequent, but heavy rains when they came. Thick adobe walls that sheltered the inside from the heat of the desert summer and the winter cold. He had a wind-pumped well that provided enough water for him and his goats, and the old tomcat that lurked in the barn. He had a little porch with a comfortable rocker where he could sit and watch the sun set across the valley, over the snow-covered peeks of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

That was all he needed really. 

Sometimes, though...

Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to have more. To have someone to share this with. The little house, the quiet of the high desert, his beautiful mountains.  

Gabe cleared his throat. "I suppose we should go inside."

Stephen nodded, but didn't say anything.

They stepped out of the truck and up to the front door. Gabe reached past Stephen and pushed it open—he'd never seen the sense in locking it out here. He held it open for the other man. "Come on in." 

His living room was sparse. And that was probably being charitable. He had a couch, a wingback chair that faced the window, a small TV—an older flat screen he'd bought when he moved back to Superstition—and an old, scarred coffee table that he'd gotten at a secondhand store. That was about it. No art on the walls, not much of anything else. Nothing he didn't need. He didn't have guests very often.

Stephen stepped inside, paused for a second, and then made a sudden beeline for the window overlooking the mountains.

Gabe shut the door, locked it, and wandered over. Once there, he realized Stephen wasn't looking at the view, but staring up at a little popsicle stick and yarn thing one of the local kids had made. A sad, quiet little girl. Gabe had arrested her stepfather last year for beating her mom half to death. The asshole was serving ten years now, down in Albuquerque. Gabe had hung her gift over the window and then forgotten about it. 

Stephen had his head tilted to the side again, eyes unfocused. Gabe wondered if he knew how often he did that. Whatever he was hearing, Gabe couldn't sense it. The cape was back on his shoulders, he noticed. The thing twitched a little when Gabe stepped too close. He took a step back and the cape settled down. _Weird_.

Gabe watched as Stephen raised his hand, almost close enough to touch the slowly spinning decoration, but not quite. His fingers shook terribly. Guy must be tired.

"It's called an Ojo de Dios, I think," Gabe said softly.

Stephen seemed to startle out of his trance. He blinked a few times, and finally noticed Gabe was next to him. "It's, uh... it's..." He shook his head and dropped his hand, smiled. "It's nothing. But... you should keep it safe."

Gabe chuckled. "Speaking in tongues, huh? Didn't think you guys did that anymore."

He shrugged. "Part of the training."

Another silence fell. Gabe didn't want to rush things, but it was getting late. Or early. And he was getting restless, like a junkie who'd been promised a hit. "Were you serious about... that drink?"

Stephen smirked. "Yes. You can feed from me." 

Guess they were done with the euphemisms... "Uh, yeah. I'd like that." Gabe hated the junkie analogy, but it was the most apt comparison he could think of. He wanted blood. Needed it, too. He just had a slightly better excuse for his addiction than most folks did.

First though, he went to the kitchen and brought a tall glass of water for Stephen, made him sit on the couch. The guy hadn't had nearly enough to drink while they were out working. Gabe wasn't planning to take much blood—no more than someone might donate—but he didn't want to risk having his guest pass out.

Stephen scowled at the glass for a moment then reached out with both hands to lift it. A little water sloshed over the edge. He drank it, though.

 _Fuck_ , his hands must really be hurting. Gabe sat down on the couch, smoothed out the edge of a blanket. He knew the other man probably didn't appreciate him staring. "You should eat something. Before donating..." 

Stephen set his empty glass down carefully on the table, still using two hands. "I'm fine. You can stop fussing." He sounded irritated again.

Gabe shrugged. "Suit yourself." Stephen was an adult and he could make his own decisions. Anyway, he was getting impatient, worried the guy might change his mind. "You ready?"

"Yeah. What do you need?" 

"Uh... just your arm." _For now,_ Gabe thought. Hescooted closer and the cape rustled ominously. "And, uh... I don't think your cape likes me."

Stephen actually smiled a little. "It likes you. It just... worries sometimes." He reached up and ran his hand gently over the fabric, turned his head to talk to it. "I'm okay. Can you give us some time? _Alone?_ "

Gabe could swear the thing hesitated, like it was thinking that over. But eventually, it rose up off Stephen's shoulders and drifted slowly over to the window, dragging its hem along the floor.

Gabe thought it looked... unhappy. "You sure it's okay?"

"Yeah." Stephen turned around and glared at the cape. "It's just sulking. Now, where were we?"

"Uh... your arm..." 

Stephen held out his left arm with a dubious look on his face. His hand was trembling.

Gabe scooted closer and reached out for him, curled his fingers around his wrist. The guy's pulse was steady. A little fast. He wasn't afraid, but he was nervous. Gabe got a better grip on his hand—not too tight, but enough to stop the shakes—and pulled his arm out straighter. Some good veins there. He ran his fingers lightly over the surface and Stephen let out a shuddery breath. The median cubital was probably the easiest.

And it looked and smelled incredible. Blood, so much blood, just below the surface. Waiting for him. Gabe swallowed hard. "This might sting a bit."

He leaned down and sank his teeth into the soft skin there, easily finding the vein right underneath. Stephen flinched a little, but Gabe held him steady. If he pulled away now, he might hurt himself. 

Hot blood seeped into Gabe's mouth and it was suddenly hard to remember what he was supposed to be doing. He'd tasted the blood of magic users before, only rarely, but this was on another level. Like comparing Bud Light to a fine craft beer.

He struggled to calm himself down, suppress the predatory instincts that demanded he feed _right fucking now._ Not yet. He needed to do something else first. He moved his teeth around a little, making sure they were seated in the vein, and started injecting his venom.

That's what his Mamá always called it when he was little— _ponzoña_. Like the venom of the pale scorpions they'd sometimes find hiding under the wood pile. Gabe didn't much care for the word, but it stuck. His bite wasn't dangerous like the sting of a scorpion. He wasn't sure exactly what his venom did. He'd done some research a few years ago on the internet, but he hadn't found much. He'd experimented a little on the goats. Too much venom and they'd sleep for hours, but they always recovered. He knew it was a blood thinner and a muscle relaxant. A painkiller, too—that would make this easier for Stephen. But it was more than that. Made the blood taste better, somehow.

Stephen's harsh breathing grew deeper and he slumped back against the pillows.

Gabe shifted closer, keeping a good grip on his arm. He could feel the other man's pulse slowing at the wrist. He was much more relaxed now. A little more venom should be enough, but he'd only ever done this once or twice before with a human. He'd already injected more than he'd use on a goat, but Stephen weighed more than a goat, Gabe figured.

Stephen sighed and whispered, " _Fuck_."

Gabe shivered. That was probably enough. Too much and he risked knocking the guy out completely. He pulled his teeth back, but kept his mouth latched on tight. One strong suck and he was rewarded with sweet blood. _Holy shit!_ He'd never had anything this good before. It was incredible. He took three more good swallows. That was probably enough for now if he wanted to try feeding from a different vein. He already felt stronger—he _was_ stronger—and the familiar euphoria of a good blood high was creeping in. Only, this was better.

It was hard, almost painful, to finally pull his mouth away.

Stephen was looking up at him with half-closed eyes, a flush on his cheeks. Blue or green eyes, and every shade in between—Gabe couldn't even find a word for that color. _Damn_.

"You all right?" he asked.

"Yeah. Good," Stephen mumbled. He looked stoned out of his mind. 

Gabe chuckled. At least he'd finally broken through that arrogant exterior. He realized he was still holding Stephen's arm. He ran his thumb gently over the tiny wounds there. The bleeding had already stopped. _Fuck_ , he wanted more. He'd have to ask Stephen if he could bite his neck. Gabe figured that was more polite than just diving in.

Stephen was just watching him. His eyes flicked down to Gabe's mouth, just for a second, then back up. His pupils were dilated.

Gabe knew _that_ look. _Shit_. Maybe he would get lucky tonight. In more ways than one.

He leaned in slowly, giving the guy a chance to change his mind if he wanted to. He was usually pretty good at reading people, but he'd never picked up a man outside a club before. Too risky. And he honestly couldn't tell if Stephen was gay or straight or... something else. 

Whatever he was, he seemed okay with this. So Gabe closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against the other man's soft mouth. This time, Stephen responded, opening up and tipping his head to the side so they fit together better. And _that_ felt amazing, too. Gabe straddled his hips and deepened the kiss, pressing him back into the couch. He reached up to run his fingers through Stephen's hair—sweaty, a little dusty. His mouth was soft and pliant. Gabe bit gently at his lip and Stephen exhaled hard. He wondered if Stephen could taste the traces of his own blood in his mouth.

Unfortunately, kissing wasn't something Gabe could do for long. Once he started feeding, he began making some kind of numbing chemical in his saliva. Another thing he hated about being a vampire. He'd had to lie to his lovers in the past—tell them he just wasn't into it.

He reluctantly pulled his mouth away. 

Stephen was watching him, still panting a little. He did that odd head-tilt thing again. And Gabe got the distinct impression that Stephen was hearing his thoughts somehow. He knew Sorcerers could do that, of course. He wasn't sure if he liked the idea. He decided to ignore it, for now, so he could focus on other things.

Gabe ran his hand down to the edge of Stephen's t-shirt, pulled it up so he could feel the man's hot skin. His chest was pale and lean, like the rest of him, just a hint of a flush creeping up. A little softness around his middle, which Gabe actually appreciated in a partner.

Stephen was a better fit for the pale vampire stereotype than he was, he realized. The thought made him laugh a little. _Damn, he felt good_ —nothing else quite like a good blood high.

Gabe slid his palm down and cupped the other man's crotch. His cock was hard and hot. Gabe rubbed him through his pants as he made his way down his body. He wanted to taste him down there, too. He slid off the couch onto the floor, kneeling between Stephen's spread legs.

He looked up to find the guy staring at him, eyes hooded. Gabe trailed his fingers teasingly around his balls, following the outline of his erection, up to the button of his jeans. "This okay?"

Stephen nodded, looking dazed. "Yeah."

He worked them open and then reached inside, slid his hands around down the back of Stephen's pants to give him a firm squeeze. Nice ass. Back around to the front. Gabe could feel the man's muscles jumping under his hands—ticklish, he guessed. He liked that, too. Gabe slid his hand down the front of Stephen's boxers, moved his palm slowly up and down his erection. Good length, not too thick. He was already a little wet at the head.

Gabe brushed his thumb gently over the slit. Stephen gasped and bucked his hips up. _Damn, that was hot..._ Gabe obliged the guy and gave him a few good strokes. But there were too many clothes in the way. He lifted Stephen's hips off the couch, just enough to slide his pants and boxers down over his ass. Then he sat back and just enjoyed the view.

His cock was flushed a nice, dusky pink at the tip, nestled in dark hair. Gabe thought he looked delicious, in more ways than one. His saliva, unfortunately, also made for bad blow jobs. A man tended to not get off when he couldn't feel his dick. But he could have him another way...

It was a little awkward with Stephen's pants still on. Gabe pulled them and his boxers down as far as he could and pushed Stephen's knee up, pressing it into the couch. He could just fit his face into the crease of his thigh. He smelled so good down here, like a man. Just a little bit dirty, like sweat. Like blood. Gabe gently nudged his balls out of the way and licked the skin there. When he sank his teeth in, Stephen jumped just a little. Not completely numb, then. Gabe reached up and stroked his dick as an apology. 

Gabe didn't know how it was possible, but he tasted even better down here. Richer. He didn't want to take too much blood yet. Not before they had some fun.

He wondered how far Stephen would let him go.

Stephen's incredibly tempting ass was right there. Maybe he could just try... Some guys were into that. Gabe trailed his fingers down behind his balls, let one finger brush against his asshole. _Tight_. But Stephen didn't freak out at the prospect of another guy playing with his ass. Gabe pushed Stephen's knees up so he could reach better.

No lube at hand, but his saliva could be useful...

Gabe stuck his finger in his mouth, got it good and wet and then slid it back down to that tight hole, rubbed in gentle little circles. Then he did it again and again, until Stephen's skin started to go numb and the muscles relaxed under his finger. When he was good and loose, Gabe pushed just the tip inside, to see how the other man would react.

Stephen moaned and dug his heel into Gabe's back. A good sign. Gabe pushed his finger in slowly. It was a little dry—nothing but sweat and a little spit between them—and he didn't want to hurt the other man. But the venom was still doing its job and he was relaxed enough to make it easy. He pushed in deeper and found the guy's prostate. Stephen threw back his head and panted.

"You like that?" Gabe murmured. He was hot inside, muscles contracting around Gabe's finger. _Damn_ , he wanted more—he was so hard his dick was nearly painful in his pants. "You want me to keep going?"

Stephen let out a breathy half-laugh and nodded.

Gabe didn't have what he needed right here to do this properly, hadn't planned on getting lucky on his couch tonight. But he didn't want to break the spell they both seemed to be under. 

Gabe stroked him in time with the movement of his finger. Clear pre-come oozed from his dick, almost as good as blood in a way. Gabe held him steady and licked at the tip, pressed his tongue hard into the slit, trying to get as much of that taste as he could. He knew it would numb him up, but he didn't want Stephen to come just yet anyway. The other man writhed under him, breathing hard. Gabe thought he looked amazing like that.

He reached down and palmed himself through his jeans just to relieve the ache in his balls. It had been a long time since he'd had someone. He didn't want to wait anymore. And he wanted some privacy.

He glanced over to where the cape was hovering near the window, probably watching everything. Gabe had no idea how, but he was sure of it. He turned back to Stephen. "Let me take you to bed."

 

***

 

Stephen had a little trouble keeping his balance, so Gabe helped him along the short hallway to his bedroom.

Blood made him strong. And the blood of a strong magic user made him even stronger. He could have carried Stephen if he'd wanted to.

He looked back to make sure the cape wasn't following them. It wasn't. _Good_. Gabe shut the door behind them.

His bedroom was simple and spare, like the rest of the house. Queen bed with an old, threadbare quilt, a dresser, a bookshelf, and a bedside table. A lamp so he could see. That was about it. Nothing but the basics. Nothing interesting.

Stephen still seemed interested. He staggered toward the bookshelf, like he was going to grab a book and start reading. Gabe pulled him back. "Wrong way, Doc."

He dragged Stephen over to the bed, turned him around and gave him a little shove backwards. Stephen flopped onto the mattress, chuckling. He seemed to be feeling pretty good. 

Gabe pulled his service weapon out of the holster, checked it, and tucked it away in his dresser. He unbuckled the holster and set that on top. Then he untucked his shirt and started undoing the buttons. Stephen propped himself up on his elbows, watching. His eyes were sharp again. Not that damn listening thing this time, Gabe was happy to note, just desire. He decided to put on a little show.

When he was younger, he'd always been described as 'stocky'. Now, he was ripped. And he knew he looked good. He'd worked hard to get this body. Part of that was because he tended to get fat when he sat around. But Gabe also knew part of that was to compensate for his insecurities. He wasn't handsome, and he wasn't too good at conversation. His body was one of the few things he had going for him. But that was usually enough to turn heads at the clubs.

He shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, let it slide slowly down his arms, tossed it onto the floor. Flexed a little as he undid his belt.

Stephen made a low humming sound. 

Gabe glanced up. Yep, still staring. He smiled and bent over to pull his boots off. Straightened up and worked the buttons of his jeans open. No underwear. Lucky for both of them, he'd decided not to wear any this morning. He pushed the jeans down his legs and kicked them off. 

Gabe dropped his hand down and gave his own cock a few lazy strokes. He wasn't hung, but he was bigger than average. Most guys he was with appreciated that.

Stephen sat up suddenly and scooted to the edge of the bed, eyes dark. Gabe stepped closer and reached for the other man, stroked his hair back. Stephen raised a hand and pressed it to Gabe's cock, curled his fingers loosely around him. He rubbed his thumb under the head. _Shit_. Gabe breathed out and twisted his fingers in Stephen's hair. The guy looked up at him with those knowing eyes, raised an eyebrow.

Gabe knew Stephen would blow him if he asked, but he didn't want that. Well... he _did_ want that— _o_ _h God, how he wanted that—j_ ust not right now. He pulled Stephen's hand away from his cock and pushed him back down onto the bed. Stephen's eyes widened for just a moment in what looked like surprise. _Now who's the mind reader?_ Gabe thought.

The guy was still wearing way too many clothes for what he had in mind.

Stephen didn't seem like he was in a hurry to do anything so Gabe climbed over him on the bed, yanked his t-shirt up. Stephen lifted his arms above his head obediently and Gabe wrestled it off of him. He slid off the bed and untied the laces on Stephen's boots, pulled them off. Socks, too. Then he could finally get those pants off. He slid them the rest of the way down those long legs, dropped them on the floor, and then just stood there admiring the view.

Definitely his type—long, lean, and wiry. The body of a runner, rather than a body-builder. Gabe swallowed hard, suddenly anxious. He'd never had a man in his own bed before, he realized. This was a first. And he'd never been with a magic user this powerful. Stephen could probably turn him to dust with a thought, just like those wraiths. That _should_ have been terrifying, but it was also a turn-on. He ran a hand down Stephen's leg.  _God_ , he wanted him so badly. He wanted his blood. His body. He wanted all of this.

Stephen just watched him, waiting. If he could sense Gabe's inner turmoil, he didn't show any sign of it.

Gabe found the lube in his bedside table, set it deliberately on the top. He couldn't find a condom, though. He supposed things might not get to the point of needing one.

He grabbed the lube and crawled up the bed. Stephen let him move his legs around, spreading his thighs and pushing his knees up. Gabe grabbed a pillow and shoved it under his hips. Once he was settled between Stephen's spread legs, he buried his face back down next to his balls so he could smell him. 

 _This_ was what he wanted...

He started jacking him off, nice and slow, reaching down occasionally to massage his balls. Soon Stephen was breathing raggedly and moving his hips in little jerks. His dick was nice and hard—definitely into it. Gabe slicked up a finger and slid it easily back into his ass, pumped it a few times in and out.

 _God_ , that was going to feel great around his cock...

He added more lube to his fingers—probably too much, but he wanted to be careful—worked two of them slowly inside. Still a little tight. Gabe gave Stephen's erection a few more strokes, enjoying the feeling of hot blood rushing in under his hand, nuzzled his face down into the space between his balls and his thigh.

One more bite should do it. He sank his teeth in again and injected a little more venom. Stephen twitched and made a quiet, choked-off sound, but then Gabe could feel him relaxing around his fingers. 

He fingered him gently at first, then harder and faster when he was sure the other man could take it, kept going until he was loose and sloppy with lube and venom. He knew Stephen was ready for him when he could pump three fingers easily inside without resistance. 

 _God, yeah_... He wanted to fuck this guy so badly.

Gabe hesitated. He was suddenly reluctant to ask for permission, afraid to break the weird silence that had fallen between them. He felt like a predator at the end of a long stalk afraid of spooking his prey. Should he just go for it? Stephen wasn't _that_ out of it. Maybe it was obvious what he planned to do? Stupid not to ask, though. And it was pushing a line he'd never crossed before. Plus, he needed to find a condom, wasn't sure he actually had one in the house. He rested his face against Stephen's soft belly while he considered his next move.

"You can fuck me," Stephen suddenly mumbled. "And you don't need to use a condom."

Gabe looked up sharply. "Are you reading my mind?"

"Not right now." Stephen smiled. "You're just that obvious."

 _Well, shit_... "You sure about that condom?"

"Yeah. I'm... protected. So are you."

Magic. Right. He'd forgotten about that. "Okay, uh... Yeah."

 _Fuck_ , it was going to happen... Gabe kneeled up on the bed. He slicked himself up and lifted the man's thighs, propped one of those long legs up on his shoulder. Stephen wasn't a young guy, so Gabe was careful not to get too acrobatic. He scooted forward and tucked himself in up against Stephen's ass, lined up his dick, and pushed slowly inside.

_Oh damn, that felt incredible._

He always topped, but never without a condom before. And the difference that made was amazing. Halfway in, then back out, then one more smooth thrust. And then he was buried as deep as he could go. " _Fuck!_ " He hadn't meant to say that out loud, but he couldn't help himself.

Stephen gasped as Gabe slid home, and his legs jerked reflexively. Gabe held on tight and kept him spread wide. Stephen turned his head to the side, chest heaving. His eyes were shut tight. But he hadn't lost his erection. Gabe thought he looked great like that—taking his cock. The guy had obviously bottomed before.

Still, Gabe always liked to check. "You good?"

Stephen nodded, biting his lip. 

Gabe reached between them and gave Stephen's erection a few firm strokes just to feel that ass tighten up even more. He pulled out about halfway and slid back in, did it again, slow and easy. _So good_... Stephen gradually relaxed around him, let his legs fall back open. 

 _God_ , it was the best feeling... He had to force himself to go slow for a while. He turned his head and kissed the inside of Stephen's knee, bit him lightly to make him clench up. That felt too damn good. He was going to have to be careful if he wanted this to last.

He started fucking him gently, just enjoying the feeling of that sweet ass squeezing his cock. Stephen was into it—he let Gabe pull his other leg up onto his shoulder, so he could lift his ass off the bed and fuck him deeper, get a better angle. He moaned softly when Gabe slammed in harder, and his face twisted into an expression that was somewhere between pain and pleasure. 

Gabe wanted to hear more sounds like that. He sped up until his thighs were slapping against the other man's ass and the old bed was shaking. " _Fuck_ ," he muttered. "Yeah. Take it." He'd never been an eloquent man, but dirty talk seemed beyond him. 

Stephen didn't seem to mind. He started panting harder as Gabe slammed into him, reached up to rub a palm over his erection. Gabe could see the muscles in his arms and chest tensing up, feel it inside. That wouldn't do. He had other plans for tonight...

Gabe suddenly pushed Stephen's legs off his shoulders and dropped down over him. He grabbed Stephen's wrists and shoved them up over his head. Stephen tilted his head to side, an amused expression on his face. 

"I'm not done with you yet," Gabe growled.

"I hope not."

Gabe dropped his face down onto the guy's shoulder so he could breathe him in—the smell of sweat and the desert. Magic and blood. That soft, white neck was right there in front of his face. He suddenly felt like a predator, ready to strike. The urge to bite him—to sink his teeth into the vein—was intense. But Gabe wasn't ready for this to be over yet. 

He sat back up and pulled out carefully, gave Stephen a gentle slap on the thigh. "Hey, come on. Flip over." 

Stephen did as he was asked, getting on his hand and knees and then resting his head on his folded arms. Right—his injured hands, Gabe remembered. Probably hurt to lean on them. He felt momentarily guilty for not considering that, but the guy's ass looked great like this—spread open and ready for him. And Stephen seemed like he was okay with it.

Gabe added more lube to his dick, then to his fingers, worked them into Stephen's ass until he was good and wet. When he sank back in again, they both groaned. 

He thrust a few times, slow and deep. _Damn_. "You okay? You gettin' sore?"

"A little sore. Keep going. Feels good."

Gabe huffed out a laugh. Yeah, good. More like fucking incredible. He pushed in again until he bottomed out. Stephen made a kind of choked off groan. 

"That all right?" Gabe whispered. 

Stephen grunted an affirmative.

Gabe had always liked this position best—felt like he had more control this way. And he'd always enjoyed being the one in control in the bedroom. He wasn't really into anything extreme, like ropes and shit, but it was definitely a turn on. Or maybe it was the symbolism—getting a man on his knees, getting deep inside him, taking him from behind like an animal. Especially a cocky son of a bitch like this guy. Though Gabe was getting the idea that most of that was a front. 

He rubbed his palm over Stephen's soft ass. It was a nice one—the right amount of padding. Gave him another little slap, just to feel him clench up. He pulled out until just the head of his dick was inside, pushed back in slowly. Halfway in and he slapped Stephen hard on the ass, shoved in deep at the same time. Stephen gasped and jumped like he'd been shocked. Gabe tightened his grip on the guy's hips.

"Yeah..." he whispered. "You liked that, didn't you?"

Stephen groaned in response.

 _Oh fuck, he wanted._.. Gabe swallowed, suddenly hesitant. "I, uh, can I...?" No, that wasn't right. He just wasn't very good at this shit.

He tried again, using the voice that came so easily when he was dealing with the town drunk, but was so difficult to manage in the bedroom. "I'm going to fuck you hard." That sounded dumb as hell. 

Stephen flashed a wry smile over his shoulder. "Are you asking or telling?"

Yep, still an asshole. "Uh, both, I suppose."

"Then _I_ want you to fuck me hard."

Gabe chuckled. This guy was too good to be true, like Wong had pulled him straight out of Gabe's dreams and sent him here just for this. Maybe he had...

He gave Stephen one more light slap—more of a caress, really. And then he let go and started pounding into him, pulling back on his hips for leverage so he could bottom out on each stroke. It felt so good, Gabe just closed his eyes and rode the guy's ass as hard as he dared. The harder he went, the more Stephen seemed to love it, judging by the sounds he was making. The man could really take a cock.

Still, Gabe knew he had to be careful. The blood made him strong. He could fuck for hours like this, longer than any human could last. He knew bottoming could be rough on a guy. He was leaving bruises on Stephen's pale skin for sure, but he didn't want to actually hurt him. That wasn't something he was into. And he wanted this to last—the blood always tasted so much sweeter that way.

Every time he felt Stephen getting close, felt his muscles tensing up, he stopped. He'd pull out carefully, check his ass, add more lube. Maybe give Stephen's erection a few strokes to keep him on the edge. Then slide back into him and take it slow. Excruciatingly slow.

The first few times, Stephen groaned, had even shot him an evil look over his shoulder when Gabe teased him. And Gabe was surprised he hadn't been hexed into a bug or something. But then the scowl had turned into a look of understanding. And after that, Stephen seemed to accept his fate. He let Gabe take him to the edge over and over again, until Gabe knew he must be aching for it.

But Stephen just let him do it. He didn't complain, never once reached for his own cock. He knew exactly what Gabe wanted and he let him have it. And it was incredible to be with someone who knew what he was, to not have to hide... _anything_. Someone who was letting him do whatever he liked.

He'd have it all, Gabe decided, everything he'd always wanted.

The fifth or sixth time Gabe brought him to the edge, he let the guy rest for a while. Stephen was just too close—Gabe could smell it on him. And so was Gabe, if he cared to admit it.

Stephen watched him while he fumbled with the lube, laying back against the pillows. He looked tired and out of breath still, but that intense curiosity was back on his face. "So... why?" he said.

It took Gabe a few seconds to figure out what he was asking. Why was he drawing this out? Gabe shrugged. He was embarrassed talking about this shit. Always had been. "The blood tastes better when you're—"

"Sexually frustrated?" Just the corner of Stephen's mouth quirked up.

"Yeah. That." Gabe wasn't sure why that was the case. He and his Mamá never talked about things like that, and Gabe had never been close enough to another vampire to bring it up. Stephen probably had some ideas, being a doctor and a Sorcerer and all. Maybe—

"Hormones," Stephen said, almost to himself. "Probably a change in the levels of circulating hormones."

This asshole _was_ reading his mind! " _Hey!_ "

Stephen ignored him. "Though why that would have any effect on the flavor... I have no idea." He sounded like he was gearing up for some kind of scientific inquiry.

Gabe crawled up over him, brushed the sweaty hair out his eyes, mostly to shut him up. But, _damn_ , he looked good lounging in Gabe's bed. A guy could get used to this... "Give me your arm."

Stephen gave him a knowing look, that annoying smirk still on his face, but he offered his arm up without comment. Gabe gently hyper-extended his elbow and sank his fangs into the vein there. _God_ , he tasted so good. He allowed himself one mouthful of blood, just to keep up his strength, before injecting more venom. 

Gabe watched Stephen's face closely as those beautiful eyes went glassy and the smirk finally slid away. _Better_. He pulled his teeth out, pressed a thumb into the crook of Stephen's elbow to stop the bleeding. "Can you read my mind now?"

Stephen tilted his head just slightly, doing that listening thing again. "No." His voice was so low, like the thunder from the distant storm.

"Good." Gabe sat back between Stephen's thighs, let his hand trail down the other man's arm to the scars on the back of his hand. Seemed wrong to ask him how that happened. Especially when he knew Stephen didn't want to talk about it. And now wasn't the time. 

Gabe rolled him over onto his front, pulled him up by his hips. He felt light as a feather, insubstantial now that Gabe was riding high on his blood. Gabe pushed his fingers back into his ass, found his prostate quickly. He started massaging firmly and Stephen was quickly reduced to a shuddering, gasping mess. Gabe watched, fascinated, as a drop of pre-come swelled from the tip of his cock, stretched and dripped down into a long thread. And then he kept going, just to see how much he could make him leak. A lot, apparently.

Stephen was the one who stopped him this time. " _Gods_..." he groaned. "Oh, fuck. Stop. _Stop!_ " 

"You okay?" Gabe didn't think he'd hurt the other man, but he couldn't be sure.

"Close," Stephen panted. "Too close." 

 _Oh, shit_. Yeah, he'd almost fucked that up. He'd just been enjoying himself too much, had never gotten someone off that way before. "Sorry." He wasn't sure why he was apologizing. This was his kink.

Stephen winced slightly when Gabe pulled his fingers out. He knew the guy wouldn't complain, but Gabe didn't like causing anyone pain during sex. He didn't want to stop, though. He would just have to be careful. He grabbed the lube and pushed  even more into Stephen's ass, until he was dripping. 

Then he pulled Stephen back onto his dick, fucked him slow and deep, careful this time not to get either of them too worked up too fast. Gabe closed his eyes so he could just feel—the soft, tight heat around his cock, the smooth skin under his hands, the hard bones underneath. The blood inside both of them. 

They were both so quiet—he didn't like to talk much during sex and Stephen didn't either, apparently. Nothing except the wet sounds of sex, their heavy breathing, thunder from the storm outside. Much closer now.

How long had they been fucking? Gabe had long since lost track. The storm from across the valley must have finally caught up with them. Rain rattled against the solar panels on the roof, sluiced down the window. They were both wet, too—slick with sweat. He knew Stephen couldn't last much longer.

He wasn't sure if he could either.

Gabe slowed down until he was barely moving, just rolling his hips gently, rocking them together. As deep as he could bury himself in the other man. It was intense. Probably the most intimate sex he'd ever had, the closest he'd ever felt to another person. The first time he could just be what he was without having to worry.

He let his hands roam across Stephen's back, up and down his thighs. He almost wished Stephen was reading his mind right now, just so they could be that much closer.

He pulled Stephen back against him, pressed in as deep as he could go, and ground his hips hard in a circle. Stephen moaned, low and desperate. Gabe loved that sound. "That feel good?" he whispered.

Stephen nodded. His eyes were squeezed shut, but the rest of his face was slack with pleasure. He looked like he was holding himself back by sheer force of will.

Gabe did it again and again. _Fuck_ , that felt so good. He wanted to make Stephen come like this—knew he could if he just pushed him a little more. Wouldn't even have to touch his dick, probably. 

He finally stopped when Stephen's moans became breathless, when his ass started tightening up. This time, Stephen just hung his head, limp and sweaty, breathing ragged. Gabe could see him biting his lip, feel him trembling. 

 _Fuck_ , it was amazing seeing him strung out like this. Gabe reached down to cup his balls. They were so full and heavy. Poor guy was desperate. He gave them a gentle squeeze and Stephen moaned again. His cock was flushed with blood, slicked wet with pre-come, and hot to the touch. Gabe stroked him once, swiped his fingers across the head, holding Stephen steady when he jerked against him. Gabe brought them up to his mouth and licked his fingers, tasting him.

 _Damn_ , he was ripe. It was time. Gabe wanted him right now.

"Come on up here."

He pulled Stephen up against his chest, until they were both kneeling, sighed when the other man slid back down onto his dick. _God_ , that felt good—so slick and hot. He rolled his hips to make sure they'd stay locked together like this. Yeah—he was buried to the hilt. They weren't going to slip apart.

He got a good grip on the guy's wet hair and tugged gently, pulling his head back. He could feel the other man struggling with the shift in balance, trying not to lean too much of his weight on Gabe.

"It's okay," Gabe murmured. "I work out a lot. I can hold up a skinny-ass wizard like you."

The faintest snort of amusement from Stephen, but he finally relaxed, letting his head fall back until it was resting on Gabe's shoulder. He _was_ heavy, but Gabe had the blood of a strong magic user coursing through him now, and he could probably carry a man three times Stephen's size. Four times. Take on an army of wraiths. Wet ones even. He felt invincible. And now here was that long neck he'd been admiring, stretched out, ready for him.

A vampire with a neck fetish. He didn't care if it was cliché. He could have this now.

He knew it was all an illusion, of course—Stephen could destroy him with the slightest thought. But even that made Gabe feel powerful. A magic user like this, letting Gabe have him? Giving it up for him? It felt amazing. 

He brought his free hand up and trailed his fingers down Stephen's jaw to his neck, let his fingers rest against his jugular vein. Instinctively, he could smell the difference between the arteries and veins—something about the chemicals in the blood. And he'd done a lot of anatomy research at the tiny library in the next town over, terrified that someone he knew would wonder why he was so interested in the circulatory system. He just didn't want to hurt anyone. Still... he'd never had the chance to use any of that knowledge before. A bite to the neck just seemed too... _obvious_.

He lowered his mouth until his lips just brushed that soft skin, feeling the pulse throbbing underneath. Stephen tensed a little, but didn't try to pull away. Gabe figured a doctor would stop him if he thought they were about to do something dangerous.

"You're okay," he whispered. "I won't hurt you."

He bit quickly, teeth breaking through skin and just nicking the vein. Blood flooded his mouth, hot and sweet. Stephen gasped and clenched down hard on Gabe's cock.

Gabe thought he might come just from that—the taste of the blood, that tight ass squeezing around him. Everything felt incredible, _he_ felt incredible. He struggled to control himself.

But he wanted to get Stephen off first. It shouldn't take much. And it didn't. Gabe reached down and started jacking him off, grinding into his ass at the same time, hard and deep. He didn't hold back this time. Less than thirty seconds later, Stephen went rigid against him and groaned desperately. His cock stiffened and hot come pulsed over Gabe's hand. A lot. He gathered as much as he could and kept stroking until Stephen was gasping for breath.

Gabe couldn't hold out any longer either. Everything just felt too good, tasted too good. The blood high was too intense. He could feel his orgasm building up from his balls. He grabbed on to Stephen and shoved up hard one, two more times— _damn_ , _he was still so tight_ —and then he was being swept over the edge in a flood of ecstasy. He growled against Stephen's skin as he came, pushed in hard one more time. Everything was suddenly hotter and slicker inside. He could hear Stephen moaning, feel his throat vibrating with the sound he was making. Gabe thrust a few more times, chasing the end of his orgasm as long as he could.

Then he pulled them both down onto the bed in a sweaty, messy heap, his mouth still pressed to his lover's throat.

 

***

 

Gabe blinked his eyes open.

 _Morning_. He was looking out the window that faced west. The peaks of the Sangre de Cristos were painted pink and gold. The valley remained in shadow. Something warm was pressed up against him in his bed. He rolled over.

He'd expected to be alone when he woke up, but Stephen was still here.

He watched the man next to him sleep for a while. Stephen was sprawled on his back, head turned away from Gabe. His breathing was slow and even. Peaceful. Gabe reached up and trailed his fingers lightly over the puncture marks on his neck. They didn't look bad, just a little bruised where blood had seeped under the surface. Red and blue against his pale skin. To Gabe, it was possibly the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. 

Stephen huffed and flopped over onto his side. Gabe tucked up against his back, wrapped his arms around the other man. He'd never done this before, either—woken up next to someone he'd fed on.

When he'd been dating, before he came back to Superstition, he'd always been too afraid reveal himself. Had only ever fed on random hook-ups—men he was sure he'd never see again. He'd never told anyone what he was. Even Josh, the man he'd thought he might spend the rest of his life with. Eventually, his lies hollowed out a space between them that neither of them could cross. And Josh had left him. He'd vowed to never let anyone get that close again.

He trailed his hand down Stephen's smooth side, slid around to the front to feel him. Barely half-hard. His dick felt good resting in Gabe's hand. He started stroking slowly just to see if he could get a reaction. Stephen stretched a little and moaned, but he smelled like he was still asleep. The combination of venom, blood loss, and a long night must have really knocked him out. Despite all of that, his cock started to swell in Gabe's grip.

Gabe knew he should wake the guy up, before things got serious. But he was a predator and his prey was stretched out next to him, helpless. He didn't want to stop, he realized.

But... that would be criminal sexual contact, at the very least. And he was the Sheriff, for God's sake. More importantly, he wasn't an asshole rapist. What the fuck was he thinking? He sighed and rolled onto his back. Sometimes he hated himself.

"Don't stop now," Stephen mumbled. 

Gabe glanced sharply at him. His eyes were still closed but he was smiling.

"You _dick_. You were pretending to be asleep...? How...?" He'd even  _smelled_ asleep.

The smile turned into a grin. "Magic."

" _Bullshit_ ," Gabe muttered. He rolled back over and got comfortable again, gave Stephen a teasing bite on his shoulder. "Just for that I should drain you dry." An empty threat and they both knew it—a single vampire could never drink that much blood. His kind were only dangerous in a pack.

Gabe gave Stephen's dick another long stroke and the guy's laugh turned into a groan. That was _one_ way to shut him up.

Things would really be easier if he had lube, though. It took Gabe a few seconds of searching around under the covers to find it. Once his hand was slick, he got back in position behind Stephen, kept stroking. Much better. Slow and steady. He wasn't in any hurry.

He propped himself up over the other man. Stephen was looking at him, eyes half-closed, breathing hard through his nose. Gabe watched the way the muscles on his face tightened, how he squeezed his eyes shut when Gabe pressed his thumb into the slit. He looked so different this morning. No longer the arrogant Sorcerer who'd stepped through the portal last night. Gabe liked him better this way—dirty, dusty, tired, bitten all over, and well-fucked.

He reached over with his free hand and brushed Stephen's messy hair back from his forehead. "God, you're amazing," he said. "Remind me to send Wong a thank you card."

Stephen chuckled breathlessly.

Gabe pulled his head to the side gently and dipped down to lick at a spot just below the old bites. When the skin was good and numb, Gabe sank his teeth in. Stephen made a low sound, but he didn't flinch. He brought one shaking hand up and just rested it on the back of Gabe's head. Gabe pulled his teeth back out and began feeding. His blood tasted smoother this morning, mellow, but still amazing. He wouldn't take much, not after last night. 

He kept working his hand up and down the other man's length as he drank, enjoying the change in the taste as he got more excited. The guy started breathing harder and bucking into his fist. He had to be close. Gabe jacked him faster, adding a little twist at the top of each stroke.

Stephen's hand pressed harder on the back of his head, fingers scratching restlessly at his scalp. " _Oh fuck..._ " he whispered. And then he was coming in Gabe's fist.

Gabe kept stroking until Stephen shuddered and reached down to shove his hand away. He took one more good swallow of blood, then pressed his lips hard against the wound to stop the bleeding, keeping a good grip on Stephen's hair to keep him still.

"Hold on," Gabe said. He twisted around to grab a tissue out of his bedside table, press it to Stephen's neck. Stephen was still breathing hard. Gabe waited for him to calm down, keeping pressure on the wound. 

"Sorry. I should have asked. You know, at the start... But I figured after last night..." He lifted the tissue up, checked the guy's neck. The bleeding had already stopped. Sorcerers healed fast, apparently.

"S'fine." Stephen gave him a wicked grin. "Now it's my turn."

He pushed Gabe back and slid down his body, pulling the covers along with him. When he got to Gabe's groin, he wrapped a hand loosely around his erection and leaned down to kiss the head.

Gabe breathed out hard. _Damn_. 

Stephen stopped and looked up, a question in his eyes. "You like to be in control, right?"

"Yeah," Gabe whispered. He _did_ like that. He'd just... never really had a chance to explore that kink. Not until last night...

Stephen nodded seriously. "You're in control, then."

 _Fuck_. "You sure?"

Stephen nodded again.

Gabe urged Stephen off of his legs so he could kneel up on the bed. He reached down to twine his fingers into the guy's hair, pull his head down to his cock. Not too hard—he didn't want to actually get rough with him—but firm. "Suck me." Still sounded dumb as hell, but he didn't care anymore.

Stephen didn't either. He flashed that sly grin once more and then slid his mouth onto Gabe's dick.

 _Oh, God!_ His mouth felt so good. Almost as good as his ass. Wet and hot and perfect. Stephen pushed his mouth down and then back up, sucking hard. Then he did it again, and again. Gabe groaned and tightened his fist in his hair.

"Yeah, like that. Take it deeper." He pulled Stephen's hair a little to get his head down more. Stephen obliged, taking him in almost all the way. He was good at this, too. So Gabe gave him a little leeway, loosening the grip on his hair so Stephen could move his head up and down. Good call. The guy knew how to please a man with his tongue and his mouth.

It occurred to him then that Stephen was probably still reading his mind, figuring out everything that turned him on, and giving him exactly what he wanted. Using that immense power just to make him feel good. And he was absolutely okay with that right now.

He caressed Stephen's jaw with his free hand, slid it down to his throat. He wanted to feel himself in there—another thing he'd never done before. Stephen didn't seem to mind. He made a quiet humming sound that Gabe could feel under his hand and around his dick. Gabe pulled out a little and thrust in slowly, holding Stephen's head steady, amazed at the way his erection made the other man's throat swell.

He'd never face-fucked anyone before either. So much of his life he'd spent holding back, he realized. Still, he didn't want to be rough. So he took it slow—thrusting carefully in and out. He knew Stephen would stop him if he couldn't handle it. And, either way, it felt so good, he knew he wouldn't last long.

He was right about that. He actually shouted when he came, hips stuttering desperately. The feeling of Stephen's throat working around his cock as he swallowed was almost too much. 

Gabe collapsed back down, boneless and sweaty, pulled Stephen up next to him. "Fuck, that was incredible," he panted.

He needed some time to get his breath back. They both did. Gabe turned and stared out the window for a few minutes, waiting for his heart to stop racing. Sunlight crept down the mountain, slow as cold honey. When he looked back, Stephen was watching him again.

There was a little smear of dirt on his cheek. Gabe reached up and wiped it away. "Stay a while," he said.

"I think I already have. It's late in New York." His voice was rough. Gabe found that incredibly hot, too.

"It's still early here. Come on. I'll make some coffee. Sit with me for a while and watch the sun come up." He wanted to share this with someone, just once. He could drag an extra chair from the living room. He'd let Stephen have his comfortable rocker. "I'm sure Wong can handle the magic business for one morning."

If Stephen could read his mind to figure out all his weird kinks, then he must know how much he wanted this.

Stephen just looked at him with soft eyes. What shade of blue was that? Even in the morning light, Gabe couldn't think of a word for that color.

"I'll stay," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extended author's note [here](https://oldbluethings.tumblr.com/post/177661369034/shuffle-oldblue-multifandom-archive-of-our) on my tumblr.


	9. Houdini (Tony/Stephen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony/Stephen 
> 
> Stephen gets sick. Tony takes care of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: delirium, panic attack, sickness, hurt/comfort, some descriptions of injuries (not graphic)
> 
> Hey, everyone else is doing it! So I'm going to jump off this cliff, too. No smut in this, just kissing. Does not follow any particular continuity.
> 
> [Houdini](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Z9XJ2_YdRHA) by Foster the People

Tony Stark was chasing him through the streets of Manhattan.

At first, Stephen thought he must be imagining this. Maybe it was part of some twisted fever dream. Maybe he was still asleep in the Sanctum. Because why the hell would Stark be chasing him? But after he kept failing to wake up, Stephen had been forced to accept that this—and every other bizarre thing that was happening—must be real.

Like the fact that he was here. Wherever _here_ was.

Stephen looked around. He was in a large, empty room. Looked like part of an older building. Ornate wallpaper, large windows, fancy crown-moulding. There were many tables, all covered with white tablecloths. And chairs. And glasses and plates. With food. Some of the tables had been tipped over, spilling the food. Definitely something odd about this place. But he couldn't quite pinpoint what was wrong with it.

Stephen knew he had jumped here to get away from Tony Stark. That was an easy trick now, for some reason—he could just think of a place he wanted to go and then he was there.

He still had no idea _why_ Tony Stark was following him. He remembered waking up in the Sanctum, but not much after that. He knew he didn't feel right—dizzy, confused. His feet hurt. And that last jump had made him tired. Being chased by Tony Stark made him tired. He remembered it was loud in here when he first came in—loud enough that he'd covered his ears to muffle the sounds—but now it was quiet. He sat down on the floor and closed his eyes.

"Hey! Strange!"

Tony's annoying voice was coming from somewhere above him. Stephen cracked his eyes open. How had the man found him so damn fast?

Tony was wearing his ridiculous Iron Man armor. Red and gold. And the Cloak of Levitation was with Tony, floating next to him. That was interesting. Even more interesting: Tony had several worm-like creatures swirling around his head, glowing electric blue. He hadn't noticed those before. When they were out in the streets. 

Stephen wondered what they were. He could see all the things that were normally hidden now. These bizarre, interdimensional creatures were everywhere, he realized. Most swam or floated free, but he'd run into a few people who had the things tagging along, just like Tony did. They didn't seem dangerous at all. In fact, Tony appeared totally unaware of their presence. He sauntered slowly back and forth below and the worms followed along, trailing like seaweed.

Also, Tony was upside-down, standing on the ceiling. His cloak was floating upside-down. Everything was upside-down, actually. Stephen found that extremely hilarious.

He almost choked on the laugh that burst forth. He laughed until he was aching and gasping for breath. He laughed until tears were leaking from his eyes up into his hair. Then he started rocking because it felt good, too. He couldn't seem to stop doing that either.

"Hey, Strange. Why don't you come down? Please? For me? I just want to talk." Tony sounded worried. "You're freaking me out a little."

That made Stephen feel just slightly bad. Tony shouldn't be worried about him. He was fine. He wanted to ask Tony about the worms, but he was having a little trouble putting words together to make sentences.

More creatures floated by, distracting him. A school of shimmering fish, a kind of undulating furry snake, a dark creature as large as a whale that flickered in and out along the edges of his vision, before slipping through the wall. Harmless things, he knew. They wouldn't hurt him.

Then some furniture drifted past—a table and a chair, some dishes and plates. Clean white china. Stephen thought about a plate hitting the wall. That perfect whiteness coming apart in jagged shards. The crash that made was pretty satisfying so he did it again and again. One of the tables hitting the wall made an even better crash. The school of fish darted around, panicked.

"Cut it out, Strange."

Stephen looked down. Tony Stark was still here. Weren't there other people in here? Just a little while ago? He remembered something about that... People running, yelling, abandoning their dinners after he turned a tablecloth into a swarm of bees. He hadn't meant to do that. He'd just... thought about it. And it happened.

They were alone now. Just him and Tony. Stephen frowned. That didn't seem right. "Where's Wong?"

"On the phone. He sends his love. He couldn't be here in person, though. Apparently, your crazy magic disease is too contagious. And, God knows, I don't want to deal with two of you running around. He asked me to help, gave me a spell to track you. Works like a charm."

 _Oh, right._  He'd come in here to get away from Tony Stark. Stephen kept forgetting that.

He remembered that Tony had been following him around—unshakable no matter how many jumps Stephen took—trying to talk to him. And he wasn't in the mood to talk. He felt... not like himself. He could remember being afraid before. Something bad was chasing him—not the creatures, not Tony. The shadow people. He remembered hiding in an alley, huddled in a dark corner, shivering. He'd tried shutting his eyes to block out the visions, but he could still see them.

That must have been a long time ago. Hard to tell how much time had passed. It had been too bright outside then, now it was dark. He felt much better in the dark. _Safer_.

Stephen thought it was pretty odd that Tony was wearing his armor. They were just talking. Not doing anything dangerous. His head looked hilarious sticking out of it. Stephen felt laughter bubbling up inside again and tried to stifle it. Mostly worked—a sound like a wheezing cough came out. He cleared his throat. "Why are you wearing armor?"

"Oh, just in case you get crazy again." Tony strode off to the side of the ceiling, casually leaned his head back against a wall so he could stare down at him.

"I'm not crazy." Stephen was pretty sure he wasn't. He didn't feel precisely normal, but he felt fine. The things he was seeing were real, just hidden most of the time. He was finally seeing the world with all of its illusions stripped away. "Why are you on the ceiling?"

"You're on the ceiling, genius."

Stephen looked around. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing his pajamas. Was it really the floor? Something looked off about it. He noticed his feet were surrounded by magic-eating slugs. He could feel their rasping mouths moving against his skin. He kicked a few off—not too hard because he didn't want to hurt them. With the slugs out of the way he could see his feet. They were bare and bloody on the bottoms. He slid a foot along the ground, watching as it left a red smear, leaned forward and poked at a deep laceration near his big toe. More blood oozed out. He would probably need stitches for that. He could do almost anything, but he couldn't fix himself. He'd tried a while ago and it made him dizzy and sick.

He watched, fascinated, as the slugs regrouped and crawled up over his foot again. They were feeding on his blood, he realized. That was fine—it didn't hurt, tickled a little. More slugs were gliding along the floor toward him. He must have been sitting here for a while, to attract so many.

Where was this place? There was a light-fixture in front of him, standing up on a chain. It looked more like a chandelier. Silver metal arms, crystals dangling up. How was it doing that? He squinted at it, trying to figure out what was wrong.

He decided it wasn't the right color. Should be green instead of silver. He thought about it and it turned green. Better. Now it looked more like a little tree, each glittering crystal was a leaf on a branch. And then it was a real tree, growing out of the floor. Perfect.

" _Hey!_ Harry Potter. You still with me?"

Stephen blinked and looked around. He'd forgotten that he wasn't alone, that Tony was still here with him. "What?" he mumbled. He hated when Tony called him that.

"Stop altering reality and get your ass down here. I need to talk to you."

Altering reality...? That made no sense. Whatever was, _was_. Anything he changed was just a part of that. And he didn't feel like discussing reality with Tony. They would probably get into an argument about it. Stephen had a feeling he would lose right now. "I don't want to talk."

"You're sick. You need help."

Stephen scowled. He wished Tony would fuck off and leave him alone. Stephen knew he could make that happen if he thought about it hard enough, but he didn't really want to hurt Tony. "I'm fine now. I don't need your help."

He'd been afraid when he'd first started seeing the entities in the Sanctum. Most of them were small, flashing and pulsing with colors and lights. The way they swam and floated reminded him of deep sea creatures. They passed easily through the walls and furniture, but veered around him as if he was the only solid thing in their world. But some of them were terrifying—dark shapes moving in and out of the walls, too large to see all at once. They crowded around him, filling what he'd thought had been empty space before. Too many—he couldn't handle it. He hadn't known then that they were harmless. So he'd left the Sanctum.

Out in the streets the creatures weren't as dense, but everything was different. Buildings that looked solid before now had ghostly outlines. Like transparent photos stacked on top of each other. He could see everything now. All of the worlds.

Stephen stumbled along, confused by the edges of buildings and other-buildings. The real world and the other-worlds. He ducked down and covered his head when a creature like an immense manta ray sailed low over the street. People on the sidewalk rushed to get out of his way. He ignored them. 

He'd only made it a few blocks away from the Sanctum, when he started feeling something. Barely present, like cobwebs brushing against his skin. He looked back and he saw the first shadow person. A woman, he thought, dressed all in black. She followed him through the crowd, never hurrying, but always behind him when he checked over his shoulder. Others soon joined her. Stephen knew if they caught him something bad would happen. 

One of the shadow people tried shooting him with a dart. A man with his face covered, only his red eyes showing. Maybe he was a demon. But the shot hadn't been great, glancing off his thigh. Stephen managed to pull the dart out before it could do too much damage. Still, he could feel the drug working, making him hazy and slow. He'd jumped away before he was too overwhelmed. A dark supply closet somewhere—maybe at the hospital, he couldn't be sure. But the shadow people didn't find him. He slept there for a while.

When he woke up he'd felt much better. And the shadow people were gone, but Tony Stark was following him. Stephen was pretty sure all of this bullshit about trying to get him to come down and talk was another trap. Maybe Tony was a demon, too.

Tony had already summoned some kind of mechanical cage that flew down from the sky and locked around him. Stephen had simply jumped outside of the thing. After that, he'd tried to blast Stephen with sound waves. Stephen had conjured a magical cocoon around himself. Then Tony had followed him into an alley and shot some metal cuffs at him, locking his wrists together. But he didn't need his hands to do magic anymore. He'd turned the cuffs into vines and shook them off.

Now they were here. In this... _restaurant?_ Maybe that's what it was. Like everywhere else, there were solid walls and ghost walls all superimposed on top of each other. Windows next to windows and doors next to doors. Stephen was having trouble deciding what was a part of this reality and what was really from someplace else.

And he was so tired.

He was running out of jumps. They were easy in the Sanctum, but harder out here—the destinations were too slippery in his mind. The boundaries between dimensions too fuzzy. He just needed to rest for a while. Stephen closed his eyes and started rocking again. That felt good. What he really wanted to do was lie down and sleep.

"Come on, Strange. Just talk to me. You love to talk. I can't get you to shut up half the time."

Stephen opened his eyes. He _did_ actually enjoy sparring with Tony. Most of the time. But right now, he couldn't think of anything to say. So he kept quiet.

"Hey, how 'bout this? Magic isn't real! Voldemort was right! Gandalf is a loser!"

Stephen blinked down at him. The cloak whirled around to face Tony.

Tony sighed. "Look... I'm trying to help you. I don't know how much longer I can keep Ross's goons off our backs. So, please, would you just... come down?"

Stephen looked around. Why not? He was tired of being up here. And Tony was an ally, if not quite a friend. Why shouldn't he come down?

Stephen made another jump to the ground in front of Tony. A short one—it should have been easy—but the world tilted sideways when he landed. Both Tony and the cloak looked like they wanted to rush forward and grab him. He held up a hand to ward them off, said, "I'm okay, I'm fine. " After a few seconds, that was true. He felt steady again.

He took a step and winced. The ground felt sharp. He took another step and the ground was suddenly sticky, his foot peeling away from it. Stephen looked down. The floor seemed to pulse with glowing red. There were red footprints behind him, leaving weird tracers in his vision. Had he stepped in paint? Or was that blood? Had his blood always looked like this? "Huh..."

"Come on, you stubborn ass. Let me help you." Tony sounded concerned.

"I'm fine." The blood was really fascinating. It almost looked like it was moving... Stephen had to drag his eyes away back to Tony.

Tony. Who had been chasing him just a few minutes ago, Stephen remembered. He narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him. It was possible Tony was a demon, too. Though, he looked perfectly normal except for the worms.

"Don't turn me into a plant. You promised, remember?" Tony held up a hand, aiming that blaster at him again.

Stephen didn't like it. "I don't think I promised you anything." He pulled a bunch of magic from the atmosphere, swirling red and angry around his hand, and took another step forward. The head-worms ducked down into Tony's armor like they knew what was coming.

"Yes, you did. And wizards always keep their promises. Wong promised that was true."

Stephen stopped. Was that true? That was true, wasn't it? If he'd promised Tony something—even if he couldn't remember doing that—then he would have to keep that promise. And he didn't want to hurt Tony. He liked him.

"Okay." Stephen dismissed the energy. It was mostly for show, anyway.

Tony put his arm down. "Can I come closer? I just want to talk."

Why did they need to be closer to talk? Maybe Tony wanted to do more than talk...

Stephen swallowed hard and looked around. He was standing next to a table with a missing leg, tipped over on its side. There were broken glasses and plates scattered around his bare feet. A shattered bottle of red wine. He was standing in it—his feet were red.

He felt so wrong. What was he doing here? Had there been a fight? Had he been drinking?

"Hey, Strange. Eyes on me. I'm trying to help you, remember? Can I come closer?"

Why was he with Tony Stark? He couldn't remember how they got here. And he had no idea what Tony had just asked him, so he shrugged.

"I'll take that as a yes," Tony said and stepped forward.

Tony had nice eyes, Stephen thought. Deep and brown. He was nice to look at. And smart as hell. Funny, too, even if Stephen would never admit it. He'd thought about kissing Tony before. Many times. Usually when they were arguing. And more... He'd thought about shoving Tony into a wall and burying his face against his neck, maybe biting him. Then dropping to his knees. Doing anything and everything to make Tony Stark forget how to talk for a few minutes. He wouldn't need magic for that.

Tony had gotten a lot closer while Stephen was imagining all of that. Maybe that fantasy could happen now. He could make it happen. That seemed wrong, somehow. But if it just happened... Before Stephen could think about it, he was saying, "Can I kiss you?"

Tony raised his eyebrows in surprise. " _Wow_. That is... really not what I was expecting you to say." He gave his head a little shake. "But, uh... yes. Yes, you can."

Stephen took another wobbly step and closed the last of the distance between them. He was still just the slightest bit taller than Tony. The suit must have added a few inches. Tony gazed at him evenly, the faintest amused smile on his face. The head worms swayed in some non-existent breeze. Stephen eyed them warily.

Tony made the first move, lifting his hand toward Stephen's face. He raised his eyebrows. "May I?"

Stephen licked his lips. He was suddenly nervous, shaking. "Y—yes."

Tony's hand was still encased in armor, and it was cold and hard against the side of his face. He didn't mind. Tony slid his hand up slowly, fingers brushing through the hair behind Stephen's ear. Then the hand tightened in his hair.

The rush of heat to his groin took him by surprise. Stephen closed his eyes and made a low sound. Maybe a moan. He didn't care. 

Whenever he'd imagined this before, he'd always pictured being the one in control. Their arguments just seemed to bring out the best (worst) of his competitive side—the part of him that was desperate to win at all costs. And why not? He was smarter. He was less reckless. He was more focused. He was just _better_ than Tony Stark. He would render Tony Stark incoherent even if he had to resort to filthy, dirty tricks.

But this was interesting, too. He'd just never imagined it happening this way before.

"You like that, don't you?" Tony said, surprised.

When Stephen opened his eyes again, Tony had his head tilted to the side, examining him like he was an interesting mechanical problem.

He tried to nod, but it was hard with Tony's hand holding him. "Yeah," he admitted. He could feel his cheeks heating up. He tried to look away, but Tony held him tight.

Tony nodded. He had that look of newfound understanding on his face. He'd obviously come to some conclusion about Stephen. Stephen wasn't sure he liked it, but it was too late to change that now.

Tony whispered, "Come here," and tugged at his hair. 

Stephen closed his eyes again and let Tony drag his head forward. Tony's mouth was soft against his, but insistent. He parted his lips and let Tony deepen the kiss.

 _Oh, that felt so good_ —wet and hot and perfect. He pressed himself closer against the other man, ran a hand up the smooth back of his armor. It was warmer than he'd expected it to be. Tony's hand cradled the back of his neck gently. His armor was a little sharp, pinching his skin, but Stephen didn't mind. He was so aroused, he was starting to get dizzy.

He pulled his lips away from Tony's so he could get more air, but the spinning got worse. His mouth was so dry all of a sudden. His eyelids felt heavy. Something was wrong. He didn't feel right. "Tony? W—wha...?" He couldn't talk.

"That's it. You're okay."

Tony's voice was soft, soothing. But Stephen was afraid. He tried to jump away again, but he couldn't remember how to do it. His knees buckled. He felt himself slipping down. _What the hell?_ This shouldn't be happening. He could do anything...

Tony caught him before he could fall. "I got you. You're okay. That's it, Houdini. Go to sleep." He lowered Stephen carefully to the ground. The cloak swept in and wrapped around him when he tried to reach out, pinning his arms.

It _was_ some kind of trick. He remembered now. Tony was one of the shadow people. Stephen tried thinking about magic—he could do anything he wanted if he just thought about it hard enough, like turn Stark into a snake—but he couldn't make anything happen. 

A dark void crept in all around him and he sank down into it.

 

***

 

He was somewhere bad when he woke up. Being held down. He was trapped.

The walls were flickering and moving, shimmering like they were on fire. There were shadow people all around him, floating in and out around the edges of his vision. Demons. Stephen choked on a cry and turned his head away, tried to block them out.

"Hey. Come on, Strange. _Strange_. Focus. Look at me."

That voice was so familiar, but he couldn't remember... _anything_. There was something... A huge, purple face. Flames all around. Something was grabbing his wrists, holding him down. He tried to twist away, but his arms were stuck. His legs weren't, though. Stephen kicked out hard, hit nothing. His feet slammed back down onto something soft. He did it again and again, wrenching at his arms. Something was holding him. He couldn't get away. He was about to die. _Again_.

" _Strange!_ Stop it. Come on. Look at me. You're okay. You're safe. Just try to breathe. Everything's fine."

Now someone was grabbing his legs, holding them down. He tried kicking them off, then bucking them off, but he just couldn't get any leverage.

There were suddenly too many people in the room. Shadow people. Doctors with their faces covered, flames engulfing their heads. One of them leaned over him. She was talking to him, saying, " _Sir?_ Sir, calm down. I need you to calm down." Another trick. Her eyes were red. Stephen knew she was really a demon.

But the other voice was talking, too—the one that sounded so familiar. " _For fuck's sake_ , just give him something! Can't you assholes see the guy's having a panic attack?"

Nothing made any sense.

He was in the hospital again. Broken. Something was wrong—he hurt all over. Something hard was around his neck. Metal. A chain? He shook his head, trying to get it off, but it was stuck. What the fuck were they doing to him? His hands didn't work. He couldn't move them. People loomed over him—bright shapes, red eyes. Stephen squeezed his own eyes shut so he wouldn't have to see how they were going to kill him this time. He was making a noise, he realized. His face was wet. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. He was sobbing.

"Hey, Stephen. You're okay. Look at me. Just breathe. Come on. You're okay." The same, soothing and familiar voice was talking. Why couldn't he remember?

And then he was so tired. His legs and arms felt weak and heavy, like he was sinking into the ground. He stopped trying to kick. He didn't care anymore.

A nurse patted his arm. She must have drugged him with something. He blinked slowly and she disappeared. Another blink and the doctors were gone. He blinked again and he was staring up at a white ceiling. The flames weren't there anymore—it was just a white ceiling now.

The bright lights were dimmed. That was better—he didn't feel so exposed anymore.

Where was this place? It didn't look like Metro General. The pattern on the ceiling tiles wasn't right. Not like he remembered it. Someone was holding his hand, rubbing the back softly. Stephen turned his head. It seemed to take forever, but he could finally see the person sitting next to him.

A man with a pleasant, tanned face. Neatly trimmed goatee. Dark, soft eyes, laugh lines at the corners. Bruised-looking circles underneath—he must be tired. Hair that stuck up in little spikes, some gray in it. Stephen thought he would need to dye it dark again soon. The man smiled at him.

He knew this person, he was sure of it. What was his name? That information seemed like it was locked somewhere in his brain. He couldn't access it right now. That thought should have been terrifying, but he was calm. Must be drugs... What drug did that? What had they given him? He couldn't remember that, either.

"Hey, Strange. You back with me now?"

Stephen thought about it for a while. "Yes." Mostly. He still wasn't sure if this was real. The hand holding his felt nice. Warm. It felt real.

The man reached out toward him and brushed the hair out of his eyes. "Hold on," he said. Then he was wiping Stephen's face with a damp cloth. The coolness felt good against his skin. 

"Who are you?" he asked.

The man's smile turned a little sad. "I'm Tony."

That brought a memory to the surface. "Tony Stark," he said. Just a name, but it was something.

"That's me."

"Where am I?"

Tony sighed and looked around. "That's classified. But we're both guests of the government for the night." He didn't sound happy about it. "I'm working on getting us out of here. They might owe me a few favors."

Stephen looked back down at their hands. He wished he could remember who Tony Stark was. The man seemed to care about him.

"Those are mandatory. Sorry."

 _What...?_ Oh, he thought Stephen was looking at the wrist restraints. He didn't care about those right now. He wanted to know more about the person he was with. "Are we friends?"

This seemed to amuse Tony. "Mostly," he said.

Stephen wondered why that was funny. Maybe they were more than friends. He had a vague memory of the two of them kissing, Tony holding him. "Are we... lovers?"

One side of Tony's mouth quirked up. "Not yet."

That was a confusing answer. And Stephen was too fucked up to make sense of it right now. He had to struggle to keep his eyes open.

"You should try to get some sleep. I need to talk to some people. See if I can get us out of here."

"Okay." He was so fucking tired. "Just... don't go yet. _Please_." He couldn't really grab Tony's hand any tighter, but he gave his fingers a weak squeeze.

"Sure thing."

He was too tired to stay awake. But he was okay now, he was safe. Tony was here with him. He closed his eyes and slept.

 

***

 

Stephen was in bed when he woke up. But not his bed.

He took a few deep breaths and tried not to panic. The room was totally unfamiliar—he knew he'd never been here before. This wasn't a hospital, though—the smell was wrong. It looked almost like someone's bedroom. A man's bedroom, if he had to guess. The design was tasteful and modern. There were some framed prints on the wall that looked more like engineering blueprints than artwork. It didn't look dangerous, but he still had no idea where he was.

Something red moved at the edge of his vision. Stephen jerked away, heart beating too fast. But it was just the cloak hovering by the side of the bed. Stephen breathed out hard and frowned at it. "What the fuck is this?" His voice was barely a croak.

The cloak gave a sad little shrug, like it wished it could tell him everything.

Stephen waved a hand at it. He was just happy to find out he wasn't alone. "I know. It's okay."

Where was he? Stephen closed his eyes and tried to get his bearings, feel the lines of power running through the earth. But the magic wouldn't come. He gave it one more try. Still nothing.

He felt sick, he realized. Feverish and sore. His head was pounding. Maybe he had some kind of virus. He swallowed and that hurt, too.

Swallowing made him realize there was also something hard and uncomfortable around his neck. He reached up. Some kind of collar. Metal, about two inches wide. Stephen felt around for some kind of clasp, but he couldn't find a way to get it off. He tugged at it, but the damn thing wouldn't budge. What the hell was it for? Was he a prisoner here?

Something serious must have happened. He just had no idea what that might be.

He had an IV line in the back of his left hand. Bag hanging from a stand next to the bed—it looked like saline, but he didn't want whatever it was going into his veins. Stephen leaned over to clamp the line, then he carefully pulled the tape off the back of his hand and slid the catheter out. It was a little awkward with only one hand. Blood and saline dripped onto the sheets before he could press the tape back down.

" _Shit_." He'd made a fucking mess, but that was out, at least.

His feet hurt, though. Stephen carefully scooted up in bed and flipped the blankets off. He was dressed in clean pajama pants that weren't his—silk with blue stripes, and the legs were way too short. Both of his feet were wrapped in bandages, just his toes sticking out. He wiggled them. They worked. That was a good sign.

And he suddenly really needed to take a piss. There was an open door to his right that looked like it might be a bathroom.

Stephen swung his legs over the edge of the bed and carefully stood up. His muscles were shaky and his feet hurt like hell, but he didn't fall. He took a tentative step and then another. Feet didn't feel too bad—he should be able to walk on them for a little while. He limped over to the doorway. The cloak followed closely behind. Stephen knew it was ready to catch him if he fell. He made it, though.

The room was a bathroom, thank the gods. Stephen flicked the light on and just stared at his reflection.

He looked... pretty bad. Pale and sick. Dark circles under his eyes. He pushed his hair out of his face, ran a hand over his chin. He didn't need to trim his goatee yet, so he couldn't have been out of it for more than a day or two. He was wearing a black t-shirt that he'd never seen before. The Avengers 'A' on the front. It was too big for him. And the pants were too short. Stephen concluded he was wearing one man's pants and a different man's shirt. _Odd_.

He tried a quick spell. Something easy—a simple projection. But nothing happened. He just looked like an idiot waving his arms around. Was it the collar?

Stephen spun the thing around on his neck to figure out how to get it off. There was a panel with a tiny, flashing light that looked like it might do something. Open, maybe? But he couldn't get his nails under the edges to pry it up. He growled in frustration and dropped his hands. He'd worry about it later—right now he had to pee.

He shuffled over to the toilet and relieved himself. _Gods_ , he must have been on the IV drip for a long time—he certainly wasn't dehydrated.

Now that he'd taken care of that urgent matter, he could focus on escape. He limped out of the bathroom and over to the window, wincing at the pain in his feet. He'd have to unwrap them so he could see what was wrong. If he couldn't use magic, he'd need his feet to get out of here.

The cloak floated up next to him at the window. A view of rolling green hills under an overcast sky. Stephen couldn't tell if it was morning or afternoon—his internal clock gave no clues. He certainly wasn't in Greenwich Village anymore.

Just then, the door to the room cracked open, startling him. He hadn't felt the presence of anyone else nearby.

"You decent in here?" Without waiting for an answer, Tony Stark strode into the room.

Stephen just stared at him, too confused to speak. The cloak jumped onto his shoulders and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

Tony gestured to a wingchair next to the window. "Mind if I sit? It was a long night." He pointed at Stephen. "You should be in bed."

Stephen shook his head. What the hell was Tony Stark doing here? And where the fuck was here anyway? That was a good place to start, Stephen decided. "Where am I?" he asked.

"Avengers HQ. Upstate New York."

That would explain Stark's presence. "What happened?" Something bad, obviously. Why couldn't he remember anything? Stephen started pacing back and forth in front of the window. His feet hurt.

Tony shot him a look of disapproval and got comfortable in his chair. "Well, let's see... At some point yesterday, you got sick. Some magical virus or something. Wong said you must have picked it up from another dimension, which is... _disturbing_. Anyway, you freaked out and went on a crazy magical rampage through Manhattan. And I must be your emergency contact because I got two separate calls from Wong and Ross asking for help. Wong couldn't get near you and Ross was having a little trouble talking you down."

Stephen must have looked confused because Stark added, "Not the General, little Ross."

Stephen frowned. "I know who Ross is."

Flashes of memory were starting to come back as Stark spoke, seeping in like half-forgotten dreams. And most of them were... _weird_. He was sitting on a ceiling. He transformed a chandelier into a tree. Slugs were licking his feet. Tony Stark had blue head-worms. Tony's hand was in his hair...

_What the fuck?_

Stephen swallowed hard, tried to ignore the pain in his throat. "I remember"— _you holding my hand, calling me Stephen_ —"being in a hospital."

"Not exactly a hospital. One of Ross's secret government lairs."

"Oh." That was all Stephen could think to say. _Fuck,_ that was... _Not good_ was probably an understatement.

"We had a brief but very intense custody disagreement over you. I won. Obviously." Tony leaned back in his chair, smiling. "You're welcome, by the way."

Stephen scowled at him. He hated to be indebted to anyone, but especially to a smug jerk like Stark. He reached up to touch the collar. "What's this?"

"Some kind of magic-dampening tech. Just a prototype, apparently, but it passed the first field test with flying colors. Ross loaned it to me under duress. I'm already working on reverse engineering the thing. Shouldn't be too hard. Just didn't know I needed something like that until now." Tony smiled. "We're leaving that on, by the way, so you can stop pulling on it."

That would explain his sudden loss of magic. He remembered the creatures he'd seen before. Stark's electric blue worms. Stephen squinted at the other man's head. Maybe there was something there? He could see the faintest shimmer in the air over Stark's head. He concentrated harder, willing the worms to appear, but all he got for his trouble was a stab of pain behind the eyes. He shook his head to clear it.

Stark was staring at him like he expected Stephen to start doing something crazy. Why was he here alone with Tony Stark, of all people? Stephen cleared his throat and looked away. "Where's Wong now?"

"Back at the haunted mansion, cleaning up the mess you made. He and your magic friends can't be around you for at least another forty-eight hours. Apparently, whatever you have is still highly contagious. But only to wizards. So, as the most qualified muggle, I got stuck babysitting."

Stark sat back in his chair, looking smug. "Are we done playing twenty questions now?"

Maybe... There was still too many things he couldn't remember. Stephen looked around the room. Anywhere but at Stark. He reached up and tugged at the metal collar. It had some kind of soft liner inside, but that wasn't enough to make it comfortable.

"Stop pulling on that thing."

Stephen dropped his arm back down, started his slow pacing again. Bad for his injured feet, but he needed to move. "Did I do anything stupid?"

Tony shrugged. "You were a crow for a while. That was pretty stupid."

Why didn't he remember that? He's not even sure what spell that might be, or if something like that would even be possible. And what else had he done?

He stopped and swallowed hard, looked back over at Stark. "Did I hurt anyone?" _Fuck, if he had..._

Tony's smile faded. "No. No one got hurt."

Stephen sagged in relief.

"But you're probably famous on YouTube now. You did some crazy shit in front of a lot of very confused people before we took you down. And Everett Ross must have been keeping tabs on you—his people were on the scene before you got even a few blocks from the magic castle. You led all of us on a merry chase there for a while. Fortunately, you forgot how to make that magic circle thing. You were still teleporting all over the place—didn't know you could do that, by the way. But only half a mile or so at a time. So this whole thing didn't turn into an international incident. It could've been worse. You caused about fifty grand in property damage." Tony shrugged. "I've done better."

He paused. "You scared a lot of people. Ross was this close to having you taken out." Tony held up his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. "I talked him down. I think the guy might be soft on you."

 _Shit_. 

"Uh, thanks. I..." Stephen didn't know what else to say. Stark had probably saved innocent people. People _he_  could have hurt—no telling what would've happened if he'd been loose out there for longer. He'd probably saved Stephen from becoming a lab rat for Ross. He was honestly grateful for that. "Just... thanks," he concluded. 

"You're welcome. Oh, and you totally made out with me."

 _Oh gods.._. "Fuck." Stephen pressed his sore hands into his eyes.

"Exactly."

When he looked up again, Stark had a wicked grin on his face.

" _No_." Stephen shook his head in denial. "We didn't... Please tell me we didn't do... anything else." 

Tony's grin grew wider.

" _What?_ "

"Nothing." Stark shook his head, innocently. "Nothing else happened. You're an attractive guy. And you're a great kisser, though it pains me deeply to admit that. And I would have loved to get to second base with you. But I draw the line at making out with a guy who's doped to the gills and strapped to a hospital bed in a secret government lab. Despite extensive rumors to the contrary, I do actually have a few moral standards."

Maybe he'd manage to survive this with the last remaining shred of his dignity intact... 

Tony was still smiling.

Or maybe not... "What is it?"

Tony shrugged. "You, ah... you liked it when I got rough with you. I just never pegged you as the submissive type before."

"Shut up," Stephen muttered. He wanted to sink down into the floor and disappear forever. _Fuck_ , he would never be able to look Stark in the eye again.

"You're right." Stark nodded seriously. "Pegging is out of the question. It would never work out between us. Magic and tech just don't play well together. Don't worry, Doc—your secret's safe with me. But I will absolutely use this against you the next time we get in an argument."

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't think about this right now, not with this headache. "I'm going back to bed." He didn't wait for Stark to say anything, just limped over to the bed and climbed on. He shrugged his shoulders but the cloak didn't budge, so he tucked both of them in.

After a few minutes, Stephen realized he hadn't heard the door open. Or shut. He looked over. Stark was still sitting in the chair by the window, poking at some kind of smart phone.

"You staying?"

Tony didn't look up. "Yep."

That was weird, too. But Stephen was surprised to find he was okay with it. He grunted and rolled over, wrapping himself in the cloak. He was safe.

He closed his eyes and went to sleep.


	10. Darkmatter (Stephen /alien)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen/alien
> 
> After being captured in space, Stephen tries to help out a fellow prisoner. But what do aliens know about human sensibilities?
> 
> More 'Sorcerer in Space' stuff inspired by recent comics. Please read the warnings!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: non-con (I would not classify this as brutal or extreme; forced orgasm, basically), emotional trauma, xenophilia, oviposition, tentacle sex, victim blaming, mind control, sickness and pain, so much slime
> 
> [Darkmatter](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=2Kw3xQXyZA4) by Andrew Bird

Stephen woke up to the same gray, metal cell. Lying on the same, uncomfortable sleeping pad. Anti-magic field fizzing in his brain. He blinked up at the same blue conduits that cross-crossed the ceiling, brighter now, signaling that his captors wanted him awake.

He'd been a prisoner here for five days, he estimated. Five days of pointless, mind-numbing captivity. He sighed and rolled over. It would be more worrisome if it wasn't all part of the plan.

Unfortunately, he was no closer to his goal than he was when he'd first been brought here.

The Essidians—a race that exhibited the worst aspects of aggressive isolationism and near reckless levels of curiosity—had somehow captured a relic of immeasurable power—the Arcantum. Fortunately, the aliens obviously had no idea how to use it or even what it was. Still, the local coalition of Sorcerers decided that the relic would be better off in their hands.

So Stephen had been sent in to accomplish two things: determine the location of the relic, and hack the Essidians' defenses so a later team could get it out.

Getting abducted by aliens was the easy part. He'd simply flown his wreck of a spacecraft into the Essidia-3 system and they'd brought him straight to one of their home worlds. They were extremely interested in magic, despite having no success at actually performing any, so it was easy to predict they'd be interested in him, too. And that they would take him to the same compound where they stashed all of the magic-related junk they'd collected.

And that's when everything started to go downhill...

Since he'd been brought here, they'd kept him unconscious anytime he was taken out of his cell. He'd woken up that first time to find a new sore spot on his chest, just below his left clavicle—some alien device under his skin. That must be how they knocked him out. One of the aliens would appear at the door to his cell, holding a little box with a button on it. And, the next thing he knew, he would be waking up back in his cell. Based on how woozy he always felt, he guessed it was some kind of drug.

Stephen was pretty sure he was grateful to be unconscious during whatever the hell it was they were doing to him, but it did make it difficult to search for the relic. And it was definitely not something he and the other Sorcerers had planned for.

He would just have to be patient, he decided. Whatever was going to happen, would happen. He was just along for the ride.

 

***

 

The next time he woke up, he was staring up at a ceiling that was clearly not his cell. Huge, iridescent eyes in blank, white faces were staring back down at him. Essidians.

He wasn't tied down, he realized. He was just... lying on the floor. _Odd_.

Stephen sat up slowly, watching the aliens for any sign that he might be in trouble. The Essidians who were gathered over him carefully shuffled out of the way. 

This room was new. Gray, metal walls and blue conduits like everything here, but the space was mostly empty. There were a few low tables with random objects on top—a glance confirmed that none of them was the relic he was after. _Disappointing_. A bank of alien tech on one wall. He had no idea what it was for.

As far as Stephen could tell, there were no anti-magic fields in here. But he did feel something—a sort of barrier around them. Stephen reached out, feeling for the lines of magic. He couldn't sense anything beyond the walls of this room, he realized. They had some kind of shielding further out. Stephen calculated that his anchor spell would still be able to get through it.

The Essidians waited while he got his bearings. They were nothing if not patient. "What's going on?" He was pretty sure they understood him, but they'd so far refused to acknowledge it.

One of them signed at him, very deliberately so he would have no trouble following: _You. Magic. Show. Us._

Two more stepped forward and tugged at his arms. They wanted him to stand, apparently. "Okay. Hold on." He was still dizzy from the latest drugging, but he managed to make it to his feet without falling and crushing a tiny, jerk alien. Now he was towering over the entire group. 

The little group of aliens backed away from him until he was standing all alone in the center of the room. Then one of them held up something that looked suspiciously like a ray gun from a fifties sci-fi film.

 _Oh shit_. Stephen took a step back and held up his hands. "Uh, what's—"

And then he was unceremoniously blasted. Right in the chest. "Ow! Hey!" It didn't even knock him down, but it hurt like hell. He rubbed at the spot. He was alive and uninjured, as far as he could tell.

One of the other Essidians signed, _You, magic,_ and the one who'd shot him lifted the gun again.

This time, he managed to conjure a shield right before he was zapped. The spell was pathetic and weak—hard to draw much power in here—but it was enough to protect him from getting tased again.

The Essidians seemed excited. Stephen waited while they signed and nodded their huge heads. A couple of them poked at the screens of their little hand-held computers. Then they pointed the gun at him again.

" _Fuck_ ," he muttered.

Hours later, and he was thoroughly exhausted after being blasted a few dozen times. The last few had actually broken through his weakening shields and stung him. He was grateful when they finally put the ray-gun away.

The Essidians huddled and signed to each other again. Stephen could just catch the gist of their conversation—they were pleased with him, they were done with him for the day. He needed to rest. One of them held out the control for his implant.

"Hey. Come on, guys!" He signed 'no thank you' and 'please' and 'stop', but they just ignored him. His head started to swim as their drugs entered his bloodstream.

Stephen barely managed to mutter, "douchebags," before he slid to the floor and passed out.

 

***

 

When he woke up again, he was in a different cell, which was interesting. And there was a new alien with him, another prisoner, he guessed. Also interesting.

His head felt weird. _Full_ was the best way he could describe it. He hadn't felt like this before when the assholes had brought him back. It took him a few moments to realize someone else was in his head with him. A telepath.

Stephen glanced suspiciously at the alien in the room. 

He had no idea what species it was, had never seen one like it before. The thing was huge and slightly lumpy, with indigo blue skin, and a long, worm-like body. He tried hard to avoid making a comparison to Jabba the Hutt.

It had an odd assortment of limbs of various sizes, some ending in large, floppy-looking hands with too many long fingers, others looked like flippers. They sprouted from the body almost at random. The face reminded him of a walrus, except it had four small black eyes, lined up in a row like those of a spider, and a hole that was probably a nostril on top of its head. As Stephen watched, the hole opened and the alien snorted. No mouth that he could see. He wondered if it communicated with sounds.

The massive body was sitting in a little wading pool filled with some liquid. In fact, all of its skin was glistening with liquid. Maybe some kind of slime coating.

Stephen pushed himself up. The drugs he'd been given were still making him groggy, but he was wary of his new cellmate.

The feeling of someone sifting through his thoughts intensified, and Stephen concentrated on reinforcing his shields. The alien twitched and made a high-pitched buzzing sound like a katydid. Another wave of intrusive telepathy hit him and Stephen staggered. It honestly felt like getting whacked in the head with one of those heavy memory-foam pillows.

No question now as to who was responsible. Stephen clutched his head and muttered, "Fuck off."

And then an alien voice filled his thoughts. Hesitant, broken English.  **We... understand, learn... communicate... you.**

Before he could react, another burst of force, much stronger than before, hit him. His mental shields frayed under the strain. Stephen leaned against the wall to avoid falling. _Fuck_ , his head hurt. "Get out," he managed.

**Let us... understand.**

One final telepathic assault and the remains of his shields crumbled and were swept aside. There was no point trying to put them back up—this alien was far too strong. And he had no magic to draw on. He knew he'd get nothing but a worsening headache for his efforts.

The presence swept into his mind—not painful now, his headache was already fading. He could feel the intruder sorting and sifting through his thoughts. Stephen grimaced. It didn't hurt, but it was incredibly irritating, like having a tooth drilled. He waited while the alien took what it wanted from him.

Finally, the intensity of the assault stepped down. Stephen breathed a sigh of relief. Now the alien presence was just squatting in his brain, comfortable, like it intended to stay for a while.

There was another odd feeling—almost a pulling sensation. Familiar. Stephen tried to remember when he'd felt it before.

The alien spoke again in flawless, confident English.  **We are hungry. We require the life force of lesser organisms to sustain us. Our captors placed us together so we can feed.**

An energy vampire. _Perfect_.

Stephen backed away from the alien in the pool. This would certainly complicate things. For being such xenophobic assholes, the Essidians were vehemently opposed to taking a life—any life—so it was more than a little surprising that they'd decided to feed him to something. And it would mean he'd have to change his plans.

**You do not need to be afraid. We will not harm you. We are already drawing enough power from you to sustain us.**

Stephen froze. He could still feel the drain, but it was tolerable. He relaxed, fractionally. He had more than enough energy to spare. So this alien might not be dangerous. And he still had his escape plan—he could use that to get away anytime.

He supposed he should try to be more diplomatic. He took a few hesitant steps closer to the pool. "I'm Stephen." 

**We know everything about you. We already know your name: Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange. A Master of the mystic arts. There is no need to speak it.**

Not just an energy vampire, but a dick, too. "Fine. What should I call you?"

**Names are meaningless. We do not require them.**

"Suit yourself." Not so odd—many species did not have the convention of individual names. In his mind, he'd already started thinking of the alien as 'Ree'. Better than Jabba, he supposed.

**'Ree' is the sound katydids make. Insects from Terra. Our vocalizations remind you of this sound.**

"That's right."

**We are not an insect.**

Of course this asshole would be offended by that. Stephen shrugged. He didn't really care. He would think what he wanted. And if this intruder got upset after snooping around in his head, that was their problem.

Another thing occurred to him. "Why do you refer to yourself as 'we'?"

**We are many, together. We are one.**

Huh. He'd never met a composite being before—they were rare, but not unheard of. "I am large. I contain multitudes," Stephen murmured.

**Poetry from Terra. Walt Whitman. _Song of Myself_. 1855.**

"That's right." He wondered how much the alien could get from him. Just surface thoughts? Or the information he kept deeper? He'd practiced defenses against telepaths at Kamar-Taj—building walls around his thoughts, blocking, distracting with rhymes and verses—but he was still mostly a novice. Wong could always break through his defenses with ease. And this thing was a powerful telepath.

In fact, they were probably hearing all of this. Stephen waited for any kind of response, but the alien stayed silent.

He shrugged and decided to take a look around his new cell. Bigger. To accommodate the pool, he assumed. The same small sink and weird toilet. His sleeping mat was here, along with some things he'd had in his other cell—books, a cup, some food rations. 

He sorted through his stuff, just to have something to do. Then he dragged his sleeping mat a little farther from the pool—he didn't want to risk getting it wet—and stacked the books neatly beside it.

Now that _that_ was done, he was bored again. He sat down on his mat. The alien—Ree—was still monitoring his thoughts. Those black eyes were still staring back at him. "So," he asked, "how long have you been here?" 

Ree buzzed again.  **Do not speak to us, food. We do not wish to talk.**

Great. He'd just been assigned the worst roommate in the galaxy.

 

***

 

After another long and tiring day of playing laser tag with the Essidian scientists, he returned to a cell where an energy vampire was waiting to pounce on his brain. 

Ree was still in the pool. Stephen glanced around, but the cell looked exactly the same as when he'd left. He couldn't find any evidence that the alien ever left the pool or did anything other than sit there. No slime trails on the floor, none of his things were out of place. He wondered if Ree's body was even capable of moving around on dry land. He'd started to think of them as aquatic.

The alien was obviously hearing his thoughts, but there was no reaction that he could see.

Stephen stopped at the toilet to relieve himself—no privacy anywhere—and then did his best to wash his hands and face in the little sink. He had to use his robes to dry off.

Ree was still just watching, listening.

"No 'hello'? No 'how was your day, Stephen'?" he teased.

Ree snorted and there was a sudden stab of pain in his head. Otherwise, his cellmate remained a silent lump.

"Fuck you, too," Stephen muttered. He really wasn't in the mood.

He sat down and forced himself to eat some of the food bars the aliens brought him. He knew he was already losing weight after just a few days here, but it was hard to get excited about eating when nothing tasted like anything.

While he ate, Stephen watched Ree. The alien was finally moving—scooping water out of the pool with their odd assortment of flippers and hands, and rubbing it on their body. The blue skin was soon shining and slick.

After one-and-a-half bars, Stephen just couldn't choke anymore down. He set the rest aside. Ree had also finished whatever they were doing. Now the two of them were just sitting there, staring at each other. 

Stephen tried to get more comfortable on his mat. He figured he should make an effort to engage his cellmate. "What is your species called?" 

No answer.

"Where is your home world? What do you call it?"

Nothing.

"Are your people aquatic?"

 Silence.

"What energy source do you use on your home world?"

More silence.

"Did you come here in a ship?"

Still more silence, but Ree's body twitched.

"Or do your people travel using magic?" Stephen didn't think so.

Ree buzzed. Stephen recognized the sound as one of annoyance. _Good_.

"Nice talking to you," he muttered.

So much for trying to be friendly...

Stephen didn't feel like thinking about anything of any importance, not with someone spying on him, so he sat back on his mat and hummed to himself, instead.

Mozart's piano concerto number 21, andante—that had always been one of his favorites, back when he could play. His attempts since the accident had been frustrating. His fingers just couldn't manage the delicate touch needed to get the piece right. He still practiced, though, closing his eyes and moving his fingers as if they were on the keys. It was painful, but the exercise kept his fingers from getting too stiff.

He could feel Ree listening intently. Stephen wondered if the alien could hear the music, the way that he did.

When he'd tired of that, he picked up one of the books the Essidians had brought for him after he'd complained about being bored. He could only read two of them. This one was in Keptu—some treatise on the history of development along rivers. Or something. After a few minutes of staring down at book in his lap, he was almost too tired to translate properly.

Too tired, too fast... Stephen looked up from the page, blinked his eyes a few times. Ree was still watching him. He narrowed his eyes at the alien.

"Can you stop draining me for a while? I'd like to read." He shook his book for emphasis.

No response.

He shut the book and held it out. "You want something to read?" Some of Ree's hands looked like they could hold a book.

Ree snorted, sending a spray of mist from the blowhole.

"Do you know how to read?" Now he was just trying to provoke a response. 

Nothing. Stephen could feel vague annoyance coming from the alien. 

So far his captivity had been tolerable. Sure, he'd been bored, but he was used to entertaining himself—thinking up new spells, or new applications and modifications for old spells. He couldn't test them out here. But once he'd imagined running through the gestures, he'd remember everything. Even daydreaming, thinking about whatever the fuck he wanted—now he felt he couldn't do any of that.

Ree was like an annoying houseguest who wouldn't leave, preventing him from just kicking back and relaxing. In his own head.

Even thinking _that_ felt like he was giving too much away. Stephen rubbed at his eyes. The constant strain of policing his thoughts was giving him a headache. "Can you stay out of my head for a while?"

No response from Ree beyond another loud snort from the blowhole. He was still being watched.

Stephen frowned at the alien. " _Please?_ "

Ree's body heaved, making water slosh over the sides of the pool. Finally, the alien spoke.  **This will be less painful for you if you stop fighting us.**  

Maybe he'd have to try a different tactic. "Look," he started. "I just need some—"

**Do not speak to us. You are merely an animal. You are food. You are beneath us. We are infinite. There is nothing you can offer us that we do not already have. We do not wish to speak to you.**

_Assholes_. Stephen growled in frustration and slammed the book down. If he couldn't block Ree then he'd make their stay in his head as unpleasant as possible.

He ran through the entirety of Pink Floyd's _Dark Side of the Moon_ in his mind. Easy enough—he must've listened to that album thousands of times in college. Then _The Wall_ , just because. Then Dylan's _Highway 61 Revisited_. But these were apparently far too interesting. Ree was still listening with the same intensity they had when he'd been thinking of Mozart.

Time to step up his game.

Stephen was about halfway through his fifth round of _American Pie_ when Ree buzzed loudly and finally retreated from his mind. He looked over just as the alien heaved their huge body onto its side to face the wall, sulking. Stephen smiled to himself. He wasn't sure if he could have endured much more of that either. 

He knew it was only a temporary reprieve but it was worth it.

 

***

 

The next time the Essidians came for him, he was taken to a large, warehouse-like room and handed a spellbook.

Stephen hadn't been in this particular room before. Not while conscious, anyway. It looked like one of the Essidians' standard magic-testing rooms, only bigger. The familiar conduits running along the walls, indicating a containment field. On and working, judging by the humming in his head.

Lying in a disorganized heap in one corner of the room, were the disassembled remains of his ship. No worries there—he didn't need it anymore. The thing really had been a piece of shit—cobbled together from bits of Tiktalin and Imoo technology. They'd only needed it to be spaceworthy long enough to make it through a gateway and into the Essidia-3 system. 

Beyond that, there were a few tables around the edges of the room with books and artifacts on top. And there, on a table just to his left, was an object that looked suspiciously like the Arcantum. A small, silver bowl. About six inches across. No lid. Just sitting there amongst the other debris, waiting to be catalogued. Or maybe examined. 

To his magic-enhanced senses, the little bowl looked as bright as a supernova.

Stephen was pretty sure this was what he'd come for. At least ninety-five percent sure. He'd need to get closer to confirm, maybe touch it. Now that he knew _where_ it was, though, his job became a hell of a lot easier.

Meanwhile, his captors were waiting for him to do something.

Stephen decided to get comfortable since they were obviously going to be here for a while. The Essidians had cobbled their technology from bits and pieces stolen from other races, but they'd apparently never encountered chairs before. Stephen sat down on the ground and crossed his legs, levitated about an inch off the floor. _Better_. Now he was at eye-level with the the group of aliens, which they seemed to appreciate. 

He just hoped they were done blasting him.

He turned the book over in his hands, flipped through the pages. This one didn't look terribly old. It was too small in his hands—obviously made at a size more comfortable for a different species. The text was in Lower Amnarian, the standard magical language used in the nearby galaxies. He could read and write it passably well, but had no chance of actually speaking it. His vocal chords just weren't capable of making the sounds.

Someone had scrawled messy notes in the margins of the book in a language he didn't know. The whole text was unusually well-organized and straightforward. Most magical tomes were not. And there was a surprising amount of explanation. This was a student's spellbook, he realized.

Tiny, delicate fingers reached out and gently took the book from him. The alien turned the pages and handed back the open book. Stephen scanned the text quickly. One side was a spell for removing seeds from a fruit. _Boring_. And the other was a ritual to predict the most likely positive outcome when given a choice between two options. He quickly memorized that one—might prove useful at some point, he thought. 

"This spell?" He pointed down at the page. "You want me to perform this one?"

The aliens huddled and signed amongst themselves for a moment, fingers moving almost too quickly to see. Finally, one of them stepped forward, pointed down at the page with the fruit spell and nodded in an exaggerated way.

Stephen shrugged. "Sure, fine. Whatever." If they wanted a demonstration of a spell to remove seeds from fruit, he'd do it. There was just one thing missing. Stephen looked around. "Uh, I need a—"

One of the Essidians stepped forward and placed a green melon-like thing down in front of him. He had no idea what it was, or where the seeds were. Though he supposed it didn't matter—the spell should take care of that.

"Right." He read through the spell one more time. _Simple_. Raised his hands and made the gestures. A small pile of shiny, brown seeds materialized next to the melon. It was, quite possibly, the dullest use of magic he'd ever seen.

The Essidians signed excitedly to each other, obviously pleased with this result. One of them took the book again and turned the pages. After a few seconds, he—or she or ze, Stephen still wasn't sure what genders they had, if any—handed it back, open to a new page.

Stephen read through the spell. A complicated and demanding ritual to summon a small, elemental demon that would clean the floor for you. "This spell?"

The Essidians all nodded their oversized heads.

Stephen sighed. It was going to be a long day. 

 

***

 

The familiar pressure of Ree shoving their way back into his head greeted Stephen as soon as the door to the cell was shut.

He glared at the lumpy alien, but Ree's eyes were closed for once. Maybe they were sleeping? Stephen somehow doubted it.

He walked over to the sink and splashed some cool water on his face, slicked his hair back. What he really wanted to do was shave, but that was impossible here. He scratched at the irritating stubble under his chin, rubbed absently at the sore skin over the implant.

He'd found the relic. Now he just needed to establish an anchor in the room that would allow another Sorcerer to open a gateway there, despite the shields. That was a simple spell, and he should be able to perform it without arousing any suspicion. Even if he did get caught, there was no need to stick around. He would be finished with this place soon.

He glanced back over at Ree. Still no movement, but the alien was clearly siphoning off his energy right now—he was already tired and now hurtling toward exhaustion. Ree must be hungry after his long absence.

Stephen yawned and settled down on his mat, legs folded and back against the wall. He didn't feel like sleeping yet, so he picked up one of his books. Studying was, ironically, one of the things he could always rely on to keep him awake. Once his brain was engaged with something, he could hold off sleep indefinitely. This one had some interesting diagrams that were clearly anatomical studies. 

He was thoroughly engrossed in a figure detailing what he was pretty sure was the nervous system of some alien species when Ree finally decided to speak.

**We need your help.**

Stephen looked up from his book and shook his head slightly. "Sorry, didn't catch that... It sounded like you said you need my help." 

Ree actually hesitated, like they couldn't think of anything to say. Stephen could feel reluctance and trepidation coming from the alien. And maybe... embarrassment. He sat up a little straighter and set the book aside.

**Yes, we need your help. Stop pretending to be stupid. You are finite and you are food. But you are not stupid. And now we need your help.**

Stephen sighed. That was probably the closest thing to a compliment Ree could manage. "I'm listening."

**We are dying. This body is old and almost out of resources. We need your help to continue living.**

Stephen shifted uncomfortably, but decided to keep quiet. Ree was a complete asshole, but that didn't mean they deserved to die here, trapped in this cage. If he could help, he probably would. 

**We carry a spore within us.**

The word 'seed' echoed in Stephen's head—another alien concept with multiple meanings, apparently. 

**This spore contains our entire consciousness, collected over millions of years. It is ready to be transferred to another of our kind so that we may join with them and live on in a new body.**

"I don't see how I can help you with that," Stephen said before he could think about it. He didn't like where this was going.

**Be quiet while we explain. We know you have a way to escape from this place—we have seen it.**

_Damn_ , had they picked everything out of his mind? He'd buried that deep down, where he was sure no telepath could get to it. He opened his mouth to protest.

**Be quiet! Yes, we know everything. We see everything. Your plan to steal the relic, your method of escape. And we will not tell our captors. That would be counterproductive and would also ruin our plan of escape. We know that you cannot take us with you. You can only move yourself. But you can carry our spore to our home world. Once there, the spore can be transferred to a proper host and we will live on.**

Stephen thought it over. The spell should allow him to carry something with him—his clothes, for example, would make it out. Something small like an alien spore shouldn't be an issue. 

**You cannot carry our spore in your hands.**

"Why not?" 

**Our spore must be carried inside a living body. It requires an intimate connection to your life force in order to survive.**

_Fuck_. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Stephen groaned and scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Is that dangerous for me?"

**We know everything that you know about Terran physiology. We have determined that your body is capable of carrying our spore for a short time. Long enough for you to reach our home world and transfer it to another of our kind. It will not harm you if it is removed soon.**

That sounded like the definition of 'dangerous'. There had to be a better way out of this... "The Essidians always release their prisoners within a few months of capture. You could ask—"

**We cannot wait that long. And we cannot speak to them. Our captors are a stubborn and small-minded species. They will not allow our telepathy.**

Of course they wouldn't. And, of course, Ree wouldn't lower themselves to find some other way to communicate.

"I can ask them for you..." He'd picked up enough of the Essidians' signing to communicate with them. Or he could just write something in Amnarian or Keptu. 

Ree buzzed in anger.  **No. We will not lower ourselves to beg these lesser beings to spare our life.**

Stephen already knew it would be useless to argue with the alien. Ree was too stubborn. He was in a bind here. "Shit," he muttered.

It took him less than thirty seconds to decide. He still had so many questions, but Stephen already knew he was going to do this. Even if it meant abandoning or changing their plans. He couldn't just leave a fellow prisoner here to die. At-ye and the other Sorcerers would understand. He hoped...

For the first time since they'd met, Stephen concentrated on speaking to Ree mind-to-mind. _I need to do something first, but I will help you. I promise. I'm not sure how many more days I will need. How long can you wait?_

**We will survive for some time. We can wait.**

Stephen nodded. He needed to get back into that room to put the anchor down. He would give it five days—that seemed reasonable. If he couldn't complete the mission by then, he would take Ree's spore and get out.

 

***

 

After their discussion, Stephen had trouble sleeping. He woke exhausted after a few unsatisfying hours of restless dreams.

Ree was with him, of course—heavy in his mind, as familiar and unwelcome as the constant pain in his hands. Stephen found it a little disturbing how quickly he was getting used to having an intruder living in his head, eavesdropping on every private thought.

He was already worrying about it anyway, so he decided to just pose the question in his head:  _Tell me how I can carry the spore to your home world?_

He wasn't sure how much the Essidians were listening in on them, but he didn't want to take any chances.

Across the room, Ree squelched around in their slime pool.  **We will deposit our spore in your large intestine.**

"Shit." He hadn't meant to say that out loud. He'd suspected that was where it would go, but maybe he'd been hoping to avoid having something shoved up his ass.

**We have considered other options. But no other body cavities are safer or more accessible. Your knowledge of Terran anatomy suggests this is the most appropriate place.**

Stephen lay quietly for a while, thinking this over. Ree was correct—that would be the easiest spot to reach. _Easy_ , of course, being a relative term... The spot least likely to cause him immediate problems.

 **Our species has specific anatomy to accept a spore. It is accessible through a conjugal pore on the ventral surface of our body.** A long pause. Stephen could hear the soft splashing of Ree's flippers as they rubbed slime on their skin.  **The act of transferring a spore between hosts is a ceremony of great importance and reverence in our culture. A celebration of our lives and our connection to each other. The birth of a new personality.**

Stephen frowned. Ree was unusually talkative tonight, almost... anxious. And he hadn't really considered how the alien might be feeling, beyond the desperation to stay alive. He imagined that transferring a piece of your consciousness to a new body and then dying was major life event. He tried to put himself in Ree's shoes. Slime. Whatever.

_I'm sorry if this won't be the experience you wanted. I could—_

Ree buzzed, interrupting him.  **You cannot understand. We will degrade ourselves by transferring our precious spore to an organism that is fit only to be food. It is a filthy act. _Bestiality_ , to use one of your Terran words. You are no more than an animal to us. But we must do it to ensure our survival.**

Stephen rolled over to glare at Ree. But the alien was as placid as ever, fresh slime coating glistening in the blue light from the tubes. He huffed and curled back toward the wall. He was in a dark mood—his hands were hurting after a long day and he was tired of this place.

Ree wasn't done with him, though.  **And yet... you are willing to risk your life to save ours. A selfless act.** For the first time since they'd met, the alien sounded perplexed.

Stephen asked, "Would you risk your life to save mine?" He already knew the answer, of course.

**No. Your life is worth far less than ours. We are not tied to this physical existence like you are. Our soul is eternal—it is enduring. We will live on for millennia. Indefinitely. While your life is like a single blink of an eye compared to the vastness of our existence. You are worth nothing in comparison.**

Stephen smiled to himself. How often had he thought about this very thing in the last few years? His soul, his astral body, could exist as a separate entity, could travel to countless different dimensions, but he was still tied to this mortal body. Would most likely cease to exist when it died. Was he no more than a collection of neurons and synapses, a product of the electrical impulses that passed between them? Or was he something more? The scientist in him had found no answer for those questions yet. Neither had the Sorcerer.

He knew he could live centuries longer than a normal human. Had already lived several lifetimes. He'd died and come back, countless times. And, yet, it still didn't seem like enough. 

Magic was a trick, a cheat. But it could only hold off the inevitable for so long. "Perhaps that's why I find life so precious. I get so little of it, compared to some."

Ree splashed in the little pool, agitated. **It is foolish. To so readily squander that which you claim to hold dear.**

"Yep. I'm an idiot."

 **No...**   **You are not stupid. You are merely an animal. We cannot expect you to make rational decisions.**

Stephen snorted and closed his eyes. "That, too," he agreed. He was suddenly tired of this discussion. "Goodnight, Ree."

Ree paused for a long time, as if they were unsure of the proper response.  **Good... night.**

 

***

 

Sneaking a magical backdoor into the relic room the next day was surprisingly anticlimactic.

The Essidians had him busy performing more useless housekeeping spells. He'd had a very small moment of panic when he'd first arrived and didn't see the Arcantum anywhere. Then he'd realized he could still feel the thing. The Essidians had just piled a bunch of crap on top of it. 

They really were the worst, Stephen thought, so lacking in imagination or even basic awareness. He knew they could read the text they'd given him, but it was obvious they had no idea which gestures were part of the spell they'd asked him to cast—some boring charm to keep salt from clumping—and which were really an assault on their defenses. They were almost too easy to trick.

The anchor spell was essentially a modified ward, so it would be self-sustaining without any further input from him. Stephen tested it out after he cast it.  _Perfect_ —he could feel the magic humming along, working exactly as planned. Undetectable. His job was done here.

He smiled and nodded politely when one of the Essidians handed him the next boring spell.

There was just one more thing he had to do, and then he could get the hell out of here.

 

***

 

Trying to meditate while someone was staring at you was difficult. Even worse when they were in your head. And Ree had been pestering him since the moment he got back.

**You do not need to do that. We can make you relax.**

Stephen slowly let out a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. Hard to do when an annoying voice kept intruding. He missed being able to levitate—that had always made it easier for him to disregard the physical and focus inward. Here, he was all too aware of the cold, hard floor under his legs, the aches and pains in his joints, the itch of his beard growing in, the rumble of his empty stomach. Also, the—

**This exercise is pointless. Your feeble mind is too primitive and inefficient to ever achieve true clarity.**

Stephen grimaced and tried to block out Ree's voice. He shifted on the mat and worked on centering himself again.

**This is a waste of time.**

Stephen cracked one eye open. "Are you literally dying right now?"

**No, but—**

"Then shut up and let me do this," he snapped.

Ree buzzed and twitched in frustration, but at least they stayed silent.

Stephen let out a long breath and tried to relax again. The link to At-ye would be tenuous at best, hindered by the magic-suppressors and the immense distance between them, but it should work.

He reached out across the ether, the magical space that connected everything, feeling for his familiar bond with At-ye. There it was—like a bright thread dangling in the darkness. He grabbed for it and felt the warm recognition of his friend wash over him. _Relief, happiness, worry..._

Ree was listening, interested. Surprised, actually. Luckily, the alien stayed silent.

Stephen knew he didn't have long, so he worked quickly to get his message across.

_I'm okay. Found the relic, established an anchor. There's something I need to do before I leave. Will contact you soon. Be ready. If you don't hear from me after twenty-four hours, come and find me._

He couldn't wait for a reply. Stephen dropped the connection and slumped down, breathing hard. After a few moments, the dizziness passed. He opened his eyes.

Ree was staring at him. He could feel the alien's presence in his mind, eager and waiting.

"I'm ready," he said.

 

***

 

**It will be easiest if you sit on the pore.**

The conjugal pore, he remembered. "Right."

 **And you will need to take off your** —a pause as Ree sifted through his mind for the right word— **clothes.**

He'd figured as much. Stephen sat down on his mat and pulled his boots and socks off. Then his pants and underwear. He considered the amount of slime he might be exposed to and decided to just take everything off. 

While he was busy doing that, Ree had rolled awkwardly around in the little pool so they were on their back, with their upper body propped up against the wall. The skin of the alien's front was lighter in color and looked softer and smoother. And slimier, Stephen noted. 

There was an opening in the middle of Ree's belly that looked like an oversized vulva. As Stephen watched, the lips opened up and a cascade of slime poured out. He could see pale flesh writhing around inside.   

 _The spore pore_ , he rhymed. He really, really did not want to sit on that.

Ree slapped a flipper down in the water, splashing him.

 _Fuck you_ , he thought back.

Stephen stepped closer. He hadn't realized it before, but Ree was much larger than he was—a good three-hundred pounds more, at least. Those cold, black eyes watched him. No hint of expression that he could read. He was suddenly reminded of the caterpillar from _Alice in Wonderland_ , lounging on his mushroom. Mysterious and inscrutable. _Alien_.

Stephen hesitated.

Now that he was naked, he felt more vulnerable. That was ridiculous, of course, but he honestly didn't know what might happen once Ree had a hold of him. He was no match at all for the alien's telepathy. They could do anything they wanted and he would be helpless. And he knew essentially nothing about Ree's species. What if this was a ruse to—

**Do not waste our time. We could have overpowered you at any point if that was our plan.**

Stephen considered that. Ree had been surprised that he'd been able to contact At-ye. He was betting they hadn't worked out  how he'd managed that trick.

He shook his head. "No. You need me to cooperate." He formed the words in his mind. _You know the spell will only work if I trigger it. And you haven't figured out how to do that without my help yet._

 **Yes. We had considered that.** More hesitation from Ree. **But you are correct: we have not found a way to perform this magic without your input. You have hidden that information too well. And we have no expertise in this area. Instead, we analyzed your personality and determined that you would be willing to help us. Without coercion.**

"Yeah, I'm a bleeding-heart now apparently." He had always cared—too much. So he kept his distance, tried to stay detached. The death of a patient was the worst failure he could imagine. _His_ failure. That had always kept him motivated to be the best. He'd never considered how much worse it could be.

He didn't fear failure anymore. He _had_ changed. He was willing to risk everything now, even failure, if he could save a life.

Still, he was about to let an alien lay an egg inside him. An alien who had repeatedly called him 'food'. An alien he barely knew. And didn't particularly like.

**You will be safe. We will not harm you.**

That was not terribly reassuring. "Will this be painful?" Stephen wasn't afraid of pain—knew now that he could handle a lot—but he wanted to know what he was in for.

There was a long pause this time.  **No. The process of depositing the spore will not be painful.**

Stephen could practically hear the 'but' at the end of that thought. _Something_ would be painful. His body wasn't made for this.

**We can make you sleep during the process.**

"No thanks." As unpleasant as the whole thing sounded, he wanted to be awake and aware. "Let's just do this."

Stephen calculated the best angle of approach and decided there was was no way he was getting out of this without getting slimed. He stepped over the edge of the little pool and into the liquid. Definitely not just water—it was too viscous. Warm, though. He'd been worried it would be cold. Ree was warm, too. He reached out a hand to steady himself against the alien's side. Ree's skin was soft and silky. Slippery.

It was a little awkward trying to straddle the alien's body—he had to grab at Ree's soft appendages to keep from slipping. Ree helped him along with their large hands. The 'fingers' were slightly sticky at the tips and Stephen's skin tingled where they pressed against him. But once he was on and settled, it wasn't too uncomfortable. Like sitting astride a horse. His feet still touched the ground.

Ree was uncharacteristically quiet in his head while he got situated. Stephen figured he would have heard about it by now if he was doing something wrong. He twisted around to look behind him. The pore was a few inches behind his ass. 

**Sit on the pore.**

Stephen sighed. Their captors were most likely watching this with glee, cataloging all of their bizarre alien behavior. At-ye was probably wondering what the fuck he was doing. He scooted back until he could feel warm slime welling up around his balls and seeping into his ass crack. Less than a minute in and he was already coated with the stuff. Stephen shuddered.

**You are tense.**

Stephen had to bite back a sarcastic reply. It would be wasted on Ree anyway. "Yes, I'm tense."

**This will be more difficult if you are tense. We will help you relax.**

"Just give me a minute," he muttered. The slime wasn't so bad once he'd gotten used to it. The tickling sensation of it oozing over his skin was fading.

Something poked at his ass and he jumped.

 **An exploratory appendage. We need to ensure that you are healthy and stable enough to carry the spore. You have no knowledge about**   **your current internal status. But we can use your expertise to make a determination.**

Considering how much he'd been in space recently, Stephen supposed it was only a matter of time before he got probed by aliens. And he'd need a colonoscopy in a few years anyway. Might as well get it over with now. "Okay."

**You need to relax.**

Stephen closed his eyes. "I'm trying," he grit out. It was hard to stop pushing up on his toes and just sit on this thing, knowing what was about to happen. He focused on his breathing—steady and slow, in then out—and relaxing his thighs.

Something wet touched his forehead—one of Ree's hands, fingertips spread across his skin. Warmth and peace flooded through him. The tension seemed to melt from his limbs. "What's... uh...?"

 **There is no need to speak.**  

He shut his mouth without thinking about it.

The thin tentacle—he couldn't actually see the thing, but that's what it felt like—slid into his rectum. He could feel the brush of it just inside as it moved in deeper, but that was it. The feeling was easy to ignore. He waited, silent. There was no pain, only very slight discomfort later as it passed through the left flexure of his large intestine. Nothing else happened for a while and he drifted off.

Ree's voice filled his head.  **You are healthy. You will be able to carry the spore to our home world.**

Stephen blinked. Had he actually fallen asleep during that? He reached up and pushed Ree's hand off his forehead. His own fingers were clumsy and slow. His hair was now covered with slime, too. Annoyance crept back in now that Ree wasn't controlling him. 

"Please don't mess with my head again. I don't appreciate it."

As usual, Ree chose to ignore him.  **Our ovipositor will transfer the spore. It is larger in diameter.**

'Ovipositor' didn't seem like the right term, but was likely the closest word in English that Ree could pull from his head. Stephen grimaced. "Looking forward to it," he muttered.

The alien buzzed once underneath him. **We find your constant reliance on sarcasm during times of stress to be annoying and counterproductive.**

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah? Maybe you should find someone less annoying to help you then." 

Ree buzzed again, but it was soft and low—almost soothing. Stephen could feel resignation and a grudging acknowledgment coming from the alien.

Ree's body twitched and fresh slime welled up from the pore, dripped down Stephen's legs. _Something_ pushed up beneath him, rubbing along his perineum and then back as if seeking entry. The ovipositor, he guessed—it felt like another tentacle. He forced himself to stay still, though his instinct was to pull away.

Stephen immediately regretted not having a look at it before it was nudging his cheeks apart and slipping inside. The thing was mostly smooth, at least, and slick with slime. A little thinner than a human penis. He shut his eyes and focused on relaxing his muscles. The tentacle eased into him with a smooth, sure glide.

The whole thing should have been terrifying—and on some level, it was—but he'd chosen to trust Ree and he couldn't back out now. Whatever happened, he'd already made his choice. Even so, Stephen couldn't help muttering a quick appeal to the Vishanti under his breath.

The thing advanced deeper in little waves—it would push in and then rest, then another push, followed by another rest. Slower was better, he knew, but he wondered how long this would take.

He couldn't really feel the tentacle moving past his rectum, but he did begin to feel increasingly distended, belly too full. His intestines started to cramp. The tentacle must have reached the left flexure. There was likely a good, sharp turn there. Stephen closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. It wasn't bad enough to be truly painful, but it wasn't comfortable either.

The tentacle stopped moving. **You are in pain.** Ree's voice actually sounded concerned for once. Stephen realized they must be feeling it, too. Maybe it was harder for the alien to ignore him when they were so closely entwined.

"I can handle it. I'm fine."

**It is not necessary for you to experience pain during this act.**

There was an odd warm sensation in his guts and the cramps faded away. The tentacle started moving again, but he felt better. Much better. Maybe his perception _was_ a little out of whack—he'd probably developed a pretty high pain tolerance over the years since his accident. "What was that?"

**A chemical to relax the smooth muscle of your intestine and allow easier passage of the ovipositor. It affects our species in the same way.**

The ovipositor finally stopped moving. Goal reached, apparently. Stephen realized he actually felt okay, better than he expected after having a few feet of alien tentacle shoved up his ass.

Ree was silent for a few minutes. Then the body beneath him gave a slight lurch, as if the alien was taking a deep breath. Stephen grabbed at Ree's arms to steady himself. The tentacle in his ass seemed to swell and throb. Stephen gasped. Another pulse and then another, until it reached a stable rhythm and stayed there. He shifted his hips, trying to find a position that took some of the pressure off, but he only succeeded in rubbing himself against the edges of the pore. 

"What's, uh...? Tell me what's happening."  _Fuck_ , he was getting hard. The constant, steady throb of the tentacle inside him against his prostate was almost like the rhythm of sex. His body certainly thought so.

**We are transferring the spore. This process will take some time to complete.**

Stephen nodded. He could do this. He focused on the most dry, clinical thing he could think of: the path of blood through the internal carotid arteries, leading to the middle cerebral arteries, then to the posterior communicating arteries, before flowing into the basilar artery.

But his mutinous brain kept straying to what he was feeling: afferent tracts in the pudendal nerve carrying the sensation of pressure to his brain, excitatory pathways in his parasympathetic system causing the release of acetylcholine and nitric oxide, dilating the penile arteries...

One of Ree's hands slowly moved from his hip, up across his abdomen. The fingers came to rest just under his sternum on the right side. They pressed in slightly and seemed to warm against his skin. An answering heat flared low in his belly. Stephen closed his eyes and bit his lip. 

**This feels like a sexual act to you.**

There was no sense in lying to Ree. "A little," he admitted. "It's... Some of the sensations are similar."

**The similarity is making you tense and uncomfortable. Your body's reactions are disturbing to you.**

"Yeah, well..." What could he say to that? It was obviously true—he couldn't hide what he was feeling. "I'm fine. Ignore it. Let's just finish this."

Ree was openly curious and interested now. Of course they were—they were an amalgamation composed of hundreds of personalities, collected over millennia, all blended together to form a seamless and cohesive whole. He was a single organism, with one personality, and he still managed to fight himself at every turn.

Stephen wasn't sure why his arousal disturbed him. He'd had sex with aliens before—some far more bizarre than Ree. But this wasn't sex... Maybe he felt weird getting off during an act that was more akin to a medical procedure. An act that was a prelude to the death of one of the participants...

And then there was the fact that he just didn't like Ree much. 

As expected, Ree didn't see an issue.  **You consider this response to be a normal reaction to physical stimulation. There should be no conflict.**

Also true, but he was still human. Stephen sighed. "Sorry. We're complicated creatures. This is just the way we are."

**We will help you. We can make this experience more pleasurable for you.**

"No thanks. I don't—"

But the ovipositor was already twisting gently inside him, pressing in just the right spot at the perfect tempo—pulled directly from his mind, he was sure. He couldn't help the way his breathing sped up, the rising heat inside. Well on his way to orgasm. He was up on his toes again now, legs tense, trying to escape that feeling.

"Ree, listen to me..." he panted. "I don't... want this."

**You do. You cannot lie to us. We know everything.**

"I don't. I really don't. Trust me, Ree. Please stop."

**We can make you forget this needless conflict. Then, this will be easier for both of us. We find your emotional turmoil irritating and unnecessary.**

"This is my choice. And I'm asking you to respect my wishes." He put as much force behind that thought as he could. He was pissed off now.

**You do not know what you want. We will decide for you.**

"Fuck you," he managed. 

Ree reached up to grab his head again. Stephen tried to twist away without sliding off—not possible anyway, while he was so thoroughly impaled like this—but it was no use. There was nowhere to go that Ree couldn't reach. He had no magic, no way to defend himself.

"You assholes!" he spat. His useless fingers couldn't get a grip on the alien's slick arm, and Ree was surprisingly strong.

Then Ree's wet fingers pressed against his forehead and the anger melted away.

This was okay. He was warm. He was safe. He felt so good. He gasped as pleasure more intense than anything he'd felt so far shot through him. He sat back down on the pore, feet slipping through the slime on the floor.

**This is better. You feel better now.**

He _did_ feel better. 

**We know what you need.**

The pore opened beneath him. He moaned as Ree pushed another thin tentacle inside. This one seemed to rub and press against his swollen prostate. The larger tentacle was still pulsing. He shivered at the two sensations.

**You can move. It will not impede the process. Your body needs more friction to achieve orgasm.**

He rocked his hips a little. That felt good, but it wasn't quite enough. Stephen leaned forward so he could rub himself against Ree's skin. The alien hooked appendages under his arms to support him. He thrust forward and slid his cock through the thick slime pooling up around him. Ree grabbed his hips and shifted him back a little.

**Push forward.**

He did as Ree said and his cock slipped into the warm slickness of the pore. "Oh shit," he breathed. That felt amazing. He thrust again, into the writhing mass of tentacles inside. They squirmed and swirled around him, caressing up and down his length.

"Fuck. _Fuck_."

He was so close already. He thrust forward again and then again and he was spilling over the edge. His orgasm rolled over him like a wave, leaving him weak and senseless in its wake.

Ree's voice finally broke through the haze he was in. As cold and analytical as ever.  **A curious sensation.**  

The alien pushed his head up, fingers tangled in his wet hair. Stephen struggled to keep his eyes open. Deep, black eyes stared back at him, unblinking.  **You are a fascinating creature. For something so simple... We find you very interesting.**

He could feel Ree's grip on his thoughts weakening. His own emotions rising to the surface again. Confusion filling the blank spaces in his mind, followed by the realization of what Ree had just done to him. He was too exhausted now to be angry.

 **We have not harmed you.** The alien's voice filled his mind again. Confident in spite of his distress.  **You wanted that. You enjoyed it.** A pause. **We enjoyed it.**

"Ree..." He didn't feel like arguing. It was pointless, anyway. Ree didn't understand. _Couldn't_ understand, he realized, why this was wrong. "I didn't want that," he said anyway. "I asked you to stop."

Ree was silent, but those odd fingers pressed against his abdomen, massaged gently. Stephen relaxed and let the alien touch him. It didn't matter now—he couldn't stop this.

The burning ache in his belly felt like arousal but was somehow more than that, consuming him. The tentacle was still throbbing inside him, his cock was already stiffening again. As soon as he was aware of it, Ree was too. The alien's fingers trailed down, brushed along his length. Stephen squeezed his eyes shut and moaned. He was helpless.

"How long?" he whispered. He knew he didn't need to specify—Ree would know what he meant.

**Not long. We are almost finished. The transfer is nearly complete.**

Stephen kept his eyes closed and nodded. Tears slipped down his cheeks. He didn't care anymore. He'd given up trying to fight Ree, had already surrendered to the rising tide of arousal. 

Shame rushed through him. _I want it._ He couldn't bear to say it out loud. _Give it to me._

 **Yes.** Ree's voice was smug, satisfied. They'd been proven right, after all.  **This is what you want. We want this, too.**

Those long fingers teased and stroked him, as confident and knowing as his own hands had been before the accident. Every desire fulfilled before he could even finish thinking it. 

Another of Ree's hands slipped under him, exploring. He was shifted forward and those long fingers pressed against his perineum. He couldn't help pushing back onto them. He was almost there.

A thin finger or tentacle—he couldn't tell anymore—rubbed and slid against the opening of his urethra. He panicked when it started to press inside. "Ree... Ree, _don't_." He didn't want that, did he?

**This will make you feel good.**

The thing itched inside him as it moved down. He reached down to grab it and pull it out, but Ree stopped him, forcing his hands to freeze in the air. It slid back up, making him jerk and groan, until just an inch or so was still inside his urethra. Warmth filled him there, and then the thing was sliding back in more easily. The itching shifted to a bizarre tingling ache as it went deeper. Then deeper still. More warmth inside of him, and then a jolt of arousal so strong he cried out.

"Oh gods... _fuck!_ "

The tentacles were like live wires inside him, electrifying every secret spot in his body. He was trapped right on the precipice, but he couldn't fall. "Ree... please. I can't..." He had to stop talking to breathe. "I can't... come with this thing inside me."

**Yes, you can. It will not harm you.**

His thighs were trembling, straining. He was burning up inside. "I don't..." He didn't think he could... He couldn't remember his anatomy—what was where, what ducts it might be blocking—or physiology. What needed to happen to give him release?Every rational thought had failed him.

**Relax.**

He had no choice but to obey Ree's command. As soon as he let go, his body convulsed in sweet relief. Shivering pleasure swept through him over and over again until his tired muscles couldn't contract anymore. 

He was shaking after. He couldn't seem to calm down again. It was too much, suddenly. All of it.

Ree's fingers touched his forehead and he slept.

 

***

 

He came to lying on something soft and warm. Awareness crept up on him slowly, painfully. His guts hurt. The thing he was lying on moved and bumped him. Stephen hissed.

Ree. He remembered now. Everything. _Fuck_. Anger burned through him, as sharp and hot as the pain in his belly.

 **You are awake.** Ree's voice was unusually subdued in his head, almost contrite.

Stephen struggled to pull his thoughts together. He would have time later to sort out how he was feeling. Right now, he needed to act. "Yeah, I'm awake. What's, uh...? What's—"

**You are stable. The transfer of our spore was successful. It is safe.**

Stephen shifted and tried to sit up, wincing at the pain. Ree's strong arms supported him until he was upright. The tentacles were out, he realized. All of them. And he was sore everywhere. He pressed a hand against his abdomen, palpated gently. Swollen and tender, especially in the right lumbar region. "What"—he sucked in a breath—" _Fuck, that hurts_. What... happens now?"

**Our body will die. You need to take the spore to our home world. Our people will know what to do... to help you.**

Ree paused for a long time. Trying to make sense of his thoughts, Stephen knew.

 **You are conflicted again. You are angry at us. You do not consider us a friend.** A longer pause as Ree searched for the right words.  **You do not... feel** **affection for us. Yet... you feel sadness at the thought of our passing.**

"All life matters to me." _Even your life, you complete fucking assholes,_ Stephen thought. He figured Ree would get the gist of that. 

**We do not... understand.**

He couldn't help laughing at that, but it was bitter and broken and made his belly hurt terribly. "That's obvious."

He climbed carefully off of Ree's body and shuffled over to the sink, unable to straighten up completely. He was weak and unsteady on his feet, shaking. The pain was a part of that, but the spore must also be draining his energy. He managed to splash enough water over himself to get most of the slime off before he had to stumble over to the weird alien toilet to vomit. 

 _Shit_ , he felt terrible. He opened his eyes just in time to catch a trace of bright blood dematerializing in the bowl. Panic shot through him, making his stomach lurch again. Stephen swallowed hard. "Ree...?"

**You will survive without harm if you hurry. You have approximately... two Terran days before any permanent damage occurs.**

Two days. More than enough time, but he wasn't at his best right now.

Pulling his clothes back on was a slow and painful process. He was too sore to fasten his pants. His belts were out of the question—he tied them loosely around his waist. He had to stop twice to retch into the toilet. More blood. He wiped at his mouth with a shaking hand.

Ree looked terrible as well. The alien's deep blue skin had become ashen, skin flaking. The blowhole on the top of their head wheezed and whistled with each labored breath.

The Essidians would probably arrive soon to take care of them now that they were both so obviously dying. He needed to get out of here before that happened—he wouldn't be able to say the trigger word for the spell if he was unconscious.

Stephen limped back over to the alien, leaned in as close as he dared. There was one more thing he'd need before this was over. "Your home world," he croaked, "Show me."

He tried not to flinch when Ree touched his head.

And then he was suddenly looking at a beautiful blue-green world. _Water, water every where_... Clouds swirled languidly above the surface of a shallow sea that stretched in all directions to the horizon. The air was thick and sweet with moisture.

 **Our home** , Ree said. Stephen could feel: _joy, sadness, loneliness, longing. Regret. Anticipation._

He was in the water, body buoyant in the salty grip of the sea. Life all around him, he realized. He could feel it. Microscopic, drifting along with the currents.

**Microorganisms. Plankton. You asked us once... what we eat. We feed on their life force.**

He could feel Ree open themselves up to him in a way they never had before. Their home. His home. Suddenly, he was there. For a moment, they were one being, sharing this place. It was enough—Stephen knew he would be able to find it now.

He stepped away, breaking the contact between them. Ree's hand dropped back down. The alien's body trembled.

Stephen hesitated for just a moment before reaching out and resting his hand on the alien's dry skin. "Goodbye, Ree. I... I'm sorry." Sorry for what—he wasn't sure. That Ree was dying? That they weren't friends? That something terrible had just happened between them? He just didn't know what else to say.

The huge body shuddered and buzzed softly under his hand. **This flesh is merely a shell. We live on inside you. Take us home.**

"Gladly," he muttered. "At-ye..." He closed his eyes and reached out again for their link, somewhere out there in the vast emptiness of space. Sighed with relief when he found it, solid and comforting.

"Abracadabra."

There was a sudden, sickening jolt sideways and he was pulled away across the galaxy.

 

***

 

And then, later...

He couldn't think. Something was wrong with his head. There were too many voices intruding. All shouting, talking over each other. So many different voices... His own thoughts seemed distant in comparison. Almost too quiet to hear.

He was in someone's arms. Someone with smooth, slick skin. He was naked and wet. But he wasn't cold. Warm water surrounded him, gentle waves lapped against him. Only his head was above the water, cradled against the soft body holding him. He felt light, floating.

He remembered... an alien. He'd come here for some reason. What was it?

He tried to speak, but something was blocking his throat. His vocal chords wouldn't work. He reached up and felt a thin tube in his mouth, snaking down his trachea. It was soft and and warm and pulsed under his hand, like something living.

**Do not remove the tube in your throat. Do not try to vocalize. It is delivering gases that are helping you breathe in our atmosphere.**

That voice was so familiar to him, yet... different than he remembered it? Softer? He opened his eyes. The alien holding him had skin as bright and blue as a robin's egg. This was not the same one he had met before. And, yet...

_Ree?_

**You remember. Yes, it is us. We live again. We are renewed.**

It was a struggle to focus his thoughts into sentences.  _What is... this? What's happening?_

**Do not be afraid. Our home world is a difficult environment for a limited mind like yours. But you are safe.**

There had been pain before, he remembered. He was sick when he came here. But he felt better now. 

_What...?_

**The spore was removed a few hours ago and it has joined with us. You are still recovering.**

The spore.

He remembered now, in flashes: Essidia-3. The relic. At-ye's face, eyes wide with worry. Because he was dying. Then... opening a gateway to Ree's home world. And, finally—a stab of shame—what Ree had done to him...

 **We are sorry. In our previous iteration we did not treat you equitably. We see now that we were wrong. You have given us a gift of immeasurable worth. You have shown us... compassion. You have saved us.** Soft fingers brushed down his cheek.  **And for that we are grateful. We feel... great affection for you.**

He could feel that, too.  _Yes_ , he thought.

He tried to look around. They were inside something—a pearlescent dome, white and shining. The walls were almost too bright to look at. Something moved off to his right, under the water, and he looked down. He could make out the vague shapes of other aliens swimming below the surface, their large bodies smooth and graceful. And other shapes—equipment, structures, maybe. The tube in his throat was connected to something under the water.

**You are fully recovered and it is safe for you to leave. We will remove the breathing tube now. You will be able to live for a while in our atmosphere without it.**

_Yes. Okay._

A quick tug and the tube slid out. And then Stephen was coughing and retching into the water. The alien held him up higher until his throat stopped spasming. He coughed a few more times to get as much of the slime out as he could. 

The alien—Ree, but _not_ Ree—waited until he was done and then touched his forehead gently. Stephen tried not to jerk away from their fingers. 

**We can make you forget. If you only ask...**

The offer was tempting, but he didn't need to think about it at all. "No." His voice was barely more than a croak, his throat felt like sandpaper. "I... want to remember what happened." 

**Very well. Then you are ready to leave. There are words you must speak for your magic. Do you remember what they are?**

He knew they were prompting him because his mind was not quite right. Too many telepaths around, clouding his thoughts. After a few moments, Stephen realized he _did_ remember. Wong had come up with this one—another joke. He almost smiled.

**Stephen...**

He shifted around so he could see the alien's face. These were the same cold black eyes, but this wasn't the Ree he knew. Not anymore.

**Goodbye, Stephen. And thank you for saving us..**

"Goodbye," he whispered. He was ready to go home. He just needed to say the magic words.

"Hocus pocus."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extended author's note [here](https://oldbluethings.tumblr.com/post/177711476574/shuffle-oldblue-multifandom-archive-of-our) on my tumblr.


	11. Brandy Alexander (Stephen/Christine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen/Christine, hints of Stephen/Cloak and Stephen/Wong
> 
> She already knew what would happen. Still, she kept coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This got posted accidentally before I was finished editing it, so if you saw the weird unfinished version, I apologize*
> 
> No warnings for this one (what!)
> 
> A very nice reader asked for more Christine, so here she is. I love her, too! I also feel compelled to say that I was very satisfied with her arc in DS. But girl should still totally hit that once in a while.
> 
> [Brandy Alexander](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=VMGq_6GouyI) by Feist

Christine trudged through the shin-high snow that covered the steps leading up to the Sanctum.

Typical of Stephen and Wong to forget to shovel them. Those two jerks probably had a spell that would do it instantly, too.

She kicked as much of the snow off the top step as she could, then stomped her feet to clean her boots. Useless, and the snow was already inside, melting into her socks. _This is what you get_ , she thinks, _for being such a pushover._ And it was definitely not how she pictured spending her Friday night off.

She sighed and reached up to knock. But before she could, the huge door slid silently open, revealing a dimly-lit foyer. Christine took a cautious step inside.

"Hello?" The gloom seemed to swallow her voice. Snowflakes swirled in around her and were lost in the old building.

She took one more step past the threshold and the door closed behind her. "Okay," she whispered. Nothing here would hurt her, she reminded herself.

She unwound her scarf and hung it on the huge metal coat rack, shook out her coat and hung that, too. She'd been here before—many times—but the Sanctum seemed different tonight. _Spookier_. She took a few steps deeper into the foyer, but no one came to greet her, not even the cloak. Christine swallowed and tried again, louder this time. "Stephen?"

"Over here."

She followed his voice around the side of the grand staircase, over to a bunch of mismatched, but comfortable-looking chairs huddled around a huge fireplace. Christine had always wondered why this place had so many chairs. Did they entertain a lot of Sorcerers? Invite beings from other dimensions to tea? So far, she'd only ever seen Stephen and Wong in the Sanctum.

The two of them must have dragged these chairs over to the fireplace—she didn't remember seeing this the last time she visited. The darkness was even thicker back here, despite the cheerful fire, almost as if someone wanted it to be dark. Which, she conceded, was entirely possible. "Ah... hello?"

"Right here."

Christine squinted at the random furniture. Even in the flickering light, it took her a moment to identify the dark shape curled up on one of the sofas as Stephen.

Christine took a few steps closer, letting her eyes adjust to the dark. She was used to seeing Stephen in the library or the surprisingly cozy kitchen, where she'd once mistaken one of Wong's cooking experiments for some potion-making disaster. She was surprised to find him tucked away in this little nook, and she clutched her bag tighter. "Why are you hiding out down here in the dark?"

"Dealing with some light sensitivity."

Stephen was wearing a dark robe over a t-shirt and pajamas. His hair was wet and curling, flopping into his face—must have just come from a shower or bath. Christine couldn't help picturing him soaking in some huge, ancient claw-foot tub upstairs. Did this place even have showers? She couldn't actually remember seeing one in any of the bathrooms.

Stephen didn't seem too distressed. He looked a little disheveled, maybe—not his normal, put-together self. And something else was missing...

"Where's your cloak?" She looked around, expecting the thing to come zooming out of the dark and scare the shit out of her like it always did.

Stephen smiled at her. "It's around. Somewhere. I'm sure it'll show up soon now that you're here."

He seemed okay. Christine relaxed a little, tried to let go of some of the worry that had been gnawing at her since he'd sent her a text. She sat tentatively on one of the chairs facing Stephen. It _was_ comfy. And the fire was already warming her up again after her trek through the snow. She settled back and dropped her bag on the floor. "I cancelled a date to come here. So... tell me what's going on."

"With who?" Stephen's eyes were suddenly sharper. Christine could swear they were almost shining like a cat's in the dark.

"What?"

"Who's the guy?"

"No one you know."

"What's his name? I might know him." He said it so casually, she almost believed that he didn't care.

"Doesn't matter. I was going to tell him it wasn't working out, so..." Christine shook her head. _What the hell was she doing?_ "Uh uh, _no_. You do not get to have an opinion on my sex life. Anyway, I'm not here so you can interrogate me. Tell me what's going on."

Stephen gave her one more long look—a promise, she knew, that he wouldn't forget about her date—before saying, "I... performed a ritual earlier and it—"

"What kind of ritual?" She was still trying to wrap her head around all this _magic_ stuff. It was hard not to picture Stephen sacrificing a chicken or something equally horrible.

He waved her off. "Not important. It worked. But, it had some... effects that I wasn't expecting. Physiological effects."

"What effects?" She already knew something was up with him.

"Increased heart rate and respiration. Elevated body temp. Agitation. Uh... light sensitivity." Stephen glanced up at her before continuing. "And... increased arousal."

"Oh. Increased arousal. Great," she deadpanned. "Also, your eyes are glowing." She thought she'd been imagining it before, but,  _nope_. Definitely glowing.

"Yeah. That, too," Stephen acknowledged.

Christine sighed. "So, let me get this straight... You screwed up a spell—"

"I _didn't_ screw it up. Everything went perfectly. This is just an unexpected side-effect. There's no—"

"And now..." She gave him a significant look to shut him up. Still worked. "Now, you need my help because you're strung out on some crazy magical voodoo or something, and you can't calm down."

Stephen shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not 'strung out'. I just... needed someone to talk to tonight. Wong's out of town, and I don't really trust anyone else. So I called you."

"And now I'm here." _Like the sucker I am_ , she thought. "So?"

"So talk to me. Distract me."

She chewed on her bottom lip, thinking it over. "I'll stay with you, _if_ —"

Stephen rolled his eyes.

"Stop that!" But she couldn't help smiling. "I'll stay, if you let me check you out first."

"I'm fine," he groaned.

"You're probably right, but just let me make sure so I can stop worrying. Plus, I'm your doctor, and you haven't had an annual exam for, like, three years."

Maybe it wasn't her place to be concerned about him, but she couldn't help herself. They had always been friends, since their time as interns. Even when she'd cut off contact—an act borne more out of desperation for her own well-being than his—she'd still worried. She knew something must have happened a couple of years ago. Something he refused to talk about with her, which was fine. She respected that she wasn't really a part of his life anymore. Not in that way. And now he had Wong here to look after him. She knew Wong didn't take any of Stephen's shit.

Still... she worried.

She could see Stephen thinking it over, jaw clenching and unclenching. Finally, he sighed in resignation. "Fine."

"Good." Christine grabbed her bag—she always came prepared for anything when Stephen called—and sat next to him on the little sofa. Stephen scooted over to make room for her.

Now that she was sitting close enough, she could definitely smell it. "Have you been drinking?"

"Uh... yeah. Not much, though."

She gave him her best disappointed look.

Stephen just shrugged. "You want something?" He indicated an ornate little bar cart next to the sofa. An assortment of fancy decanters on the top along with a used crystal tumbler. Clean glasses on the second shelf.

Christine picked up the empty glass and sniffed it, wrinkled her nose. "What is that? Brandy?"

"Yeah."

That was such an odd choice for him. "No thanks." She was being responsible tonight. And drinking with Stephen was definitely not responsible. Never had been. She set the tumbler back on the cart.

"Have you taken anything else in the last twenty-four hours?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Why not?" she demanded. "Last time I checked, your therapist had you on fluoxetine."

"I, uh... stopped taking it a few months ago." He gave her a sheepish glance. "I couldn't concentrate while I was on it. I'm fine now, anyway. I don't need it."

She wasn't sure about that—his moods had been so much more stable since he'd started taking it. But she knew she wasn't going to convince him, not tonight. She made a mental note to talk to Wong later. Together, the two of them could usually bully Stephen into doing what they wanted.

"You know you're not supposed to just quit cold turkey like that." She leaned down to rummage around inside her bag, pulled out an ophthalmoscope. She clicked the light on—still worked even after a year in a drawer.

"Relax. I tapered myself off. I'm a doctor, too, remember."

"You know what they say about a doctor who has himself as a patient..." She took hold of Stephen's chin and gently tilted his face down. His pupils were dilated.

"He saves a lot of money?"

Christine snorted. Stephen's irises were definitely glowing. She moved his head slowly from side to side, trying to figure out if they were just reflecting more light or if the light was actually coming from his eyes. She couldn't tell. "That is so weird," she whispered. "Any vision changes?"

The corners of Stephen's eyes crinkled up as he smiled. "I can see in the dark."

"So weird," she repeated. Stephen just accepted this stuff like he was an old pro now, but she didn't think she'd ever get used to it.

Christine flashed the light in his eye and Stephen flinched away, blinking.

" _Ow!_ "

"Sorry," she murmured. Definitely light sensitive. "Decreased pupillary constriction."

Stephen nodded.

"Let me just get a look at your retinas." She turned the light down to the lowest setting and gestured to his face. "May I?"

Stephen scowled, but he leaned forward so she could rest her hand against his face, push his eyelid up. Christine sat up closer so she could peer into his eye through the scope.

They were so close. She could smell the soap from his shower, the strong tang of brandy on his breath, and incense. And a smell that she couldn't name—it was just _him_. His warm skin. _God_ , she missed that.

 _Focus_ , she reminded herself. _Try to be a doctor._

She slowly moved the lens past the edge of his iris—glittering flecks of green and blue and gold—to the edge of his pupil. She adjusted the lens until the red of his retina came into focus, tried to ignore Stephen's harsh breathing. How close his mouth was to hers.

Christine cleared her throat. "Great view of your optic disc. Normal structures." Her voice sounded steady, even if she didn't feel it. Sometimes, that was all that mattered.

She leaned back and let her fingers trail down his face. When she met his eyes again, he was watching her.

Christine looked away and tucked some hair behind her ear, busied herself opening the case and finding the otoscope head. _Fuck_. She could do this without being unprofessional.

Stephen obediently turned his head to the side as she snapped on the speculum. It only took a few seconds to look in his ear and find nothing amiss. Stephen twisted around so she could reach the other side. She noticed he was having trouble keeping still while she examined him, which was unusual.

She sat back and watched him fidget for a few seconds. "Well... at least your ears are normal."

He chuckled at her lame joke.

She shoved the case back in her bag and pulled out her stethoscope, set it down on the cushion next to her. Stephen glanced down at it quickly, then back up. His foot thumped against the rug in an irritating rhythm. He was definitely agitated.

"Hold still," she whispered.

Stephen blew out a long, shaky breath, but he did as she asked.

Christine reached up and felt the glands in his neck. Normal. His skin was so hot, though. "You have a fever." She pulled her hands away, thinking she should take his temperature.

"Yeah." Stephen shifted around again, pulling his knees up and twisting on the seat.

That wasn't like him, at all. She furrowed her brow. "Are you in any pain?"

"No, I just"—he gestured vaguely at his lap—"have issues."

"Oh." She glanced down. " _Oh._.." She realized she was actually making this harder for him. _Literally_. She scooted back a little, putting some distance between them.

"Sorry. I _did_ mention increased arousal..."

"How long has that been going on?"

"Couple hours. Since everything else started."

"Any pain? Any problems... uh, ejaculating?" She could feel her cheeks heating up, which was just ridiculous. They were both doctors. And she was already intimately acquainted with his body.

"Nope." Stephen didn't seem embarrassed, at least.

"Okay, I'm almost done. I can stop if—"

"I'm fine."

"Okay." She nodded. "Turn around a little so I can reach your back."

She pushed his robe out of the way and slid the stethoscope up under his shirt along his back. "You're too skinny. I can feel every rib back here."

Stephen chuckled. "You always could."

"I'm serious. You should eat more."

Stephen hummed. "Too busy."

Christine smiled to herself and listened to his lungs for a bit. Normal sounds. Not even the slight rasp she expected to hear from someone who smoked for many years.

The silence in the cavernous room around them seemed heavy, oppressive. Every time she came here, the building seemed to have a different personality. Sometimes warm and comforting, sometimes cold and closed off. Tonight it felt dangerous, like an animal crouching in the dark, ready to spring. Stephen told her once that he thought the Sanctum could sense and respond to the emotions of the occupants. She wondered if it was picking something up from him. Or her.

Stephen's breathing was quick and shallow. Christine could feel tension radiating from him, a shivering of the muscles just under the surface. She laid her palm against his hot skin, a comforting touch. She hoped.

He glanced back at her over his shoulder.

"So," she said, "would you say this place is more Art Deco or Art Nouveau?"

Stephen snorted. "I have no fucking idea."

Christine thought about it for a moment. "I say Art Deco. With a lot of Asian influences." She knew he didn't give a shit about interior design, but he needed a distraction. Maybe she did, too. "And just a pinch of 'haunted house'."

He looked around, as if considering her description. "Just a pinch, huh?"

"Okay, maybe more than a pinch," she conceded. "Especially tonight." She slid the stethoscope around to the front of his chest, listened to his heart. Fast, just like she knew it would be. His skin was like silk under her fingers. He brought his hand up and rested it over hers where it lay under his shirt. The tremor in his fingers was worse tonight than she remembered. She could feel him fighting to keep still.

She wanted to rest her head against his back, wrap her arms around him. Turn this exam into something else. But that wouldn't be fair, to either of them. When she finally pulled away, Stephen let her. Christine took her time putting everything back in her bag. Enough time to collect herself.

Stephen just waited patiently, watching her. "So what's the verdict, doctor?"

"Physically, you're stable, but..."

"There's always a but," he muttered.

She gave him a soft smile. "But, if I didn't know any better... I'd say you were right on the edge of a panic attack." She knew those were fighting words, and she braced herself for the backlash.

But Stephen surprised her again. He looked away and scowled, and then the lines on his forehead softened. He nodded, almost to himself. "No, I'm... I think I'm okay right now. I was worried at first that this might trigger one—the feelings are similar. But I've got it under control." He looked back up and gave her another reassuring smile. "I just wanted some company."

"All right," she said, quietly. Whatever _was_ happening to him, he seemed surprisingly okay with it.

They stared at each other for a few moments. And Christine thought about how easy it would be to just lean forward and kiss him. Dangerous thoughts...

Something red darted past the back of the couch and Christine shrieked before she could stifle it. The red thing zoomed up the stairs into the dark. " _Holy shit!_ What was...?" She tried to calm her racing heart. "Was that your—"

"The cloak. Yeah." There was a faint crash from somewhere upstairs and Stephen frowned. "It's a little wild tonight."

She couldn't help laughing. "Like you?"

More thumping and then something big hit the floor above them. Stephen's frown turned into a wince. "Well, I haven't started knocking over the furniture yet, but..."

He turned back to her, fixing her with his eerie, cat-like gaze. The slightest smile played on his lips. "The night is still young."

Christine took a deep breath and let it out slowly. _Damn it_. She wanted him. Badly.

She would be strong this time. She would set boundaries. For both of them. "Okay. Fine. I'll stay for a while. But, let me just make one thing clear..." She held up a finger to emphasize her point. "I am _not_ sleeping with you."

 

***

 

She tried so hard to be strong. But it was obvious she'd been doomed from the very first moment she stepped inside the Sanctum.

" _Oh god!_ Stephen!" She curled her fingers and yanked hard on his hair as she got close. She knew he wouldn't mind. "I'm... I'm going to..."

Stephen did something with his tongue that was just... She couldn't think of a word to describe it because she was rendered completely incoherent. And then she was shuddering and moaning through the best orgasm she'd had in more than a year.

She wasn't going to think about how quickly just sitting and talking had turned into having a drink with him. And how that drink—okay, _half_ a drink—made it so much easier to wrap her arms around him and press her mouth against his. She definitely wasn't going to think about how they'd just suddenly appeared in his bedroom—literally by magic, she supposed—and how easy it had been to let him sweep her up and fall into bed with him. And she would never admit how satisfying it felt to shove her hands down the back of his pants and grab his ass. Not too skinny there—maybe he _was_ eating enough.

It was almost scary, she thought, how well Stephen still knew her body. How quickly he could bring her right to the edge. And then push her over with just the slightest flick of his tongue or finger. And he _was_ wild tonight—getting her off twice in rapid succession, one amazing orgasm, followed by another, before she even had a chance to come down from the first one.

Christine threw her arm over her face and tried to catch her breath. She was seriously considering never moving again.

 _God_ , she'd missed this...

She was so tired of fumbling through boring dates with a string of men she didn't know or care much about. The sex afterward was just as disappointing, for the most part.

Stephen was better than what's-his-name, there was no doubt about that. But the sex had always been great. Even when their relationship was falling apart. That was never the problem. It was everything else, instead. The important stuff.

Sometimes, though, she just wanted _this_.

"Come up here," she panted. She wanted to touch him.

Stephen crawled up over her body, stopping to kiss and suck one of her nipples.

Her gasp turned into a giggle when he nipped at her playfully. "Stop that," she breathed. "And get your ass up here."

He gave her one more teasing bite and then leaned up over her, a smirk on his lips. "Didn't know you were into that..."

"Shut up." Christine whacked him on the shoulder and pulled him down into another kiss to shut him up. Stephen groaned into her mouth when she slid a hand down between them, wrapped her fingers around his erection.

He was hard and silky smooth, pushing gently into her hand. Desperate for it—she could tell by the way he was trembling—but holding himself back. He was always patient like that, even at his most intense. Always waiting to follow her lead, and she loved him for it.

He pulled away from her mouth and his hands roamed restlessly over her body. "Want you," he murmured.

 _Yes, right now_ , Christine thought, but instead she said, "We need a condom. I'm not on birth control. And I don't know where you've been lately."

"I've been tripping through the multiverse." His weird, bright eyes crinkled with laughter.

She grinned back at him. "I believe that." She would believe anything, at this point. After the things she'd seen.

She had guessed—a long time ago, before they even became lovers—that Stephen might not be completely straight. There had been plenty of rumors circulating around the nurse's station about Stephen's love life, or lack thereof. He kept himself detached and professional at the hospital. She knew he had lovers—people he met outside of work. Maybe some of them were serious, but Christine never met any of them, even though she'd always been his closest friend.

When they'd started sleeping together, the rumors circulating the hospital died down.

And now... She still wasn't sure about him. Sometimes, the way Wong looked at Stephen, the way the two of them talked to each other, made her wonder if there was a deeper connection there. And who knows what else he got up to... So much of his life was a mystery to her now.

Her thoughts were derailed by Stephen pressing a condom into her hand. She hadn't seen him move. "How'd you...? Never mind, I don't want to know."

Stephen sat back a bit so she could roll the condom onto him, then covered her body with his own. "This okay?"

"Yeah." She missed having him on top of her. The solid weight of him pressing her down. Tonight, he was so warm—almost too warm. She ran her hands down the smooth skin of his back, to the soft curve of his hips. Gave him another lewd squeeze that made them both chuckle—they both knew she was a little obsessed with his ass. Then she reached down between them to guide him inside.

Christine bit her lip as he pushed forward and filled her. 

She knew he would go slow until she gave him a sign. He had always been so quiet, so controlled, in bed. It was really her only complaint—she wanted to hear him lose control. Feel him. Watch him.

Even tonight—despite whatever weird spell he was under—he was holding himself back. She knew him too well. He pushed into her, steady and even and so collected, but he was shaking under the surface.

Christine dragged his head down, whispered, "Let go, Stephen," in his ear.

Stephen folded his arms around her and tucked his face into her neck. His breath burned like a brand against her skin. She wrapped her legs around the small of his back and urged him faster.

Finally, his hips stuttered as he lost that careful rhythm. He pulled back and pushed in hard, groaning in her ear, and his thrusts became deeper and more frantic.

She knew he was already getting close.

She pulled his head up so she could see him. "Look at me." Christine held his head steady, rubbed her thumbs over his cheeks. "Don't close your eyes."

His eyes were glassy, heavy-lidded. He furrowed his brow, but he did what she asked—trying to hold her gaze as he pushed into her. His body was wound taught like a coiled spring, muscles trembling. " _Fuck_ ," he whispered.

They stayed like that—bodies rocking together, sweat and heat building between them. Until Stephen finally whispered, " _Oh gods_."

She could barely hear him over the creak of the old bed, their heavy breathing. His eyes started to slip closed.

"Open," she reminded him. "I want to see you come inside me."

Stephen met her eyes again and one corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. This was their old, familiar routine. He knew exactly what she wanted.

His steady rhythm finally began to falter and she could feel him grow harder inside her. _Close_. She loved this part... She loved the way he always tried so hard for her, to keep his eyes open at the end.

His brow furrowed like he was in pain and the breath punched out of him, hard and fast, hot against her face. But he kept his eyes locked on hers.

"Yeah," she whispered.

Stephen made a desperate noise in the back of his throat, almost a whine. Then he pushed into her one last time and stilled, body trembling as he came.

"Yes," she repeated. _This_ was what she wanted to see: his face awash in pleasure, his eyes wet and shining, staring down into hers.

They lay in the dark for a while after, panting. Stephen ran his hand through her hair absently.

Something thumped against the bedroom door, followed by a soft brushing sound, like something was rubbing itself against the wood.

Christine gave herself props for not freaking out. Maybe she was finally getting used to this magic stuff. She dug her fingers into Stephen's side to get his attention. "You locked the cloak out of your room?" She really didn't mean for that to come out quite so accusing, but it did.

Stephen drew back a bit so he could see her expression, tucked some hair behind her ear. "Yeah, I did. I... didn't think you wanted this to turn into a threesome."

"Um, no..." Christine searched his face, trying to decide if this was another one of his dumb jokes. He seemed serious, though. "Is that, ah... how you two are now?"

Stephen gave her a little shrug. "Sometimes."

 _Wow_. Christine couldn't remember the last time she'd made Stephen blush. She shook her head in disbelief. Maybe she wasn't getting used to this at all. "You're right. I don't think I'm ready for that."

There was one more quiet thump from outside and Christine imagined the cloak falling into a sad little puddle on the floor. She felt vaguely guilty, like she'd come between the two of them, and made a mental note to be extra nice to the cloak when she saw it again.

She fell asleep wondering how she could possibly apologize to an article of clothing.

 

***

 

Christine woke later, still in the dark, to Stephen nuzzling the back of her neck. The snow was still falling outside—huge flakes that drifted gently down past the window.

She reached back and stroked his cheek, pressed herself against him. His erection was hot against the back of her thigh.

Christine chuckled. "Again?"

"Yeah. That okay?" His voice was low and shaky with need and just a hint of embarrassment. She wondered how long he'd been awake, waiting for her.

"God, yes."

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled their bodies together. Christine gasped when he reached up to cup her breast.

"Condom," she demanded.

Stephen laughed at her impatience, but a second later he was pressing a condom into her hand.

 _Nope_. He definitely did not move this time, she was sure of it. "Neat trick," she said.

Stephen snorted. "Yeah. Comes in handy sometimes..."

Christine wiggled out of his grasp so she could push him over onto his back. Stephen looked up at her in surprise when she rolled the condom on and straddled him—she was the one who usually wanted to take things slow—but he shut his eyes and groaned when she sank down onto him.

She was still slick from the last time. And— _oh fuck!_ —he felt good inside her.

She rocked on top of him—slow and easy at first—lifting herself up and sinking down so she could feel him press in, filling her up. She sped up and slowed down over and over again. Teasing him, but not too much. Just enough to make him chuckle breathlessly and give her a knowing smile. That was familiar, too—this easy back and forth between them. 

Christine leaned down over him, let her hair fall around his face. Close enough to block out the light from the window, so that all she could see in the dark were the twin crescents of his irises.

"Your eyes are still glowing," she whispered.

"Yep."

He leaned up and kissed her hard and deep. His hips moved restlessly beneath her, thrusting up as much as she would let him. 

Eventually, Christine took pity on him, sat back and rode him hard the way she knew he wanted. After just a few minutes, she was surprised to find that she was getting close, herself.

Sex always felt good, but she usually couldn't orgasm from penetration alone, not without extra stimulation. Stephen's hands were still on her hips. And this didn't feel like his hands, not exactly. It was more like a tingling warmth, spreading into her. Pulsing in time with his thrusts.

_Oh, wait..._

"Are you...? _Ah!_ Are you using magic on me?"

"Maybe..." He grinned at her, uncertain. "I just thought... I can stop if—"

"Acceptable... use of magic. Don't you dare stop." She was so close. So damn close. " _Don't stop_ ," she gasped. The pleasure built and built until she was crying out and shaking on top of him.

Stephen followed close behind her.

 

***

 

Christine lay in the dark, watched the snow falling so quietly in the alley. Only three hours until she was due back in the ER, according to the ancient-looking clock on the wall. And, yet, she was inexplicably awake, despite the workout she'd enjoyed earlier. _Thinking too much_ , she supposed.

She rested her hand on Stephen's chest and felt the steady, reassuring beat of his heart under her fingertips. Slower, now. He was finally deeply asleep.

Christine sighed. If she was doomed to repeat the same mistake over and over...

This wasn't the worst fate she could imagine.

 


End file.
